


Touching the Sun

by Maoutasia



Category: Arslan Senki | Heroic Legend of Arslan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fantasy/Adventure, Mutual Pining, References to novel events and characters, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-04-05 01:25:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14033148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maoutasia/pseuds/Maoutasia
Summary: “She was like warmth and light given form. The wind picked up suddenly, catching her hair in a curtain of molten gold. As she plucked it from the sky and tucked it back behind her ear, her head turned and she caught his eye, offering him shy smile.” When Etoile suddenly reappears in Arslan's life, they both struggle to re-evaluate how they feel about one another and figure out the path to happiness, but greater dangers loom on the horizon.





	1. Language of Flowers

**Touching the Sun**

_________________

**CHAPTER 1  
**

**Language of Flowers**

_________________

 

“Your Majesty! Arslan!” Elam jogged after his king and best friend, hefting his bow back on to his shoulder, huffing as he tried to keep up with Arslan’s long, enthusiastic strides. Arslan ushered Elam down low, blowing a strand of hair off his face and flashing him a bright grin. An ivory-tipped Sindhuran hunting bow rested on his back with its accompanying quiver, inlaid with gold carvings of eagles. Azrael soared high above, scouting for his master, Arslan also peeking over the hill and scanning the landscape for their quarry. A modest brown cloak lay across his shoulders, hiding the white embroidered tunic beneath, sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal his muscular forearms. A breeze gusted across the valley, whipping up Arslan’s long, loosely braided hair and the golden grass surrounding them on the hilltop, vast, rocky yellow plains stretching out to the horizons under blue skies. The young king had matured rapidly over the years following his coronation; while still slender and lithe, he had broadened out in his chest and face enough to give him some masculine charm. One could say he had become more handsome than pretty, though his platinum hair picked up the light in such as way that it shimmered with the same beautiful allure as his elegant jewellery, and his deep eyes had never lost the gentle, compassionate warmth of his childhood. If anything, the monarch had only grown more mischievous and youthful as he settled into his station, like a wilted flower blossoming into a bright daisy under the ray of peace and love from his friends. A wild rose that now stood eye-to-eye with Narsus, and slightly above the head of Elam, much to his mild vexation.

Arslan put a gloved finger to his lips, gesturing over the rise. ”Chinkara Elam. Maybe eight of them.”

Elam let out a sigh. “Arslan, you still haven’t decided what festivities you would like to attend during tomorrow’s celebration.”

Arslan let out a childish groan, “Elam, it’s not that big of a deal. You know I hate such a fuss being made over trivial things, there’s truly no need for a formal occasion.”

Elam tucked a hand into his hip and gave Arslan a scolding look. “It’s the king’s nineteenth birthday. A festival is expected; for all the nobles to pay respect, and also for you to socialise among influential families.”

Arslan stuck his tongue at him. “Rushan is just going to take it as an opportunity to push more wives at me.”

Elam raised his eyebrows,“Well you are still unmarried. You can’t avoid it forever.”

Arslan flailed a hand at him, shushing him. “I can and I shall Elam. I do not insist that you run off and immediately marry Aisha now do I?”

The page spluttered at the cheeky smirk directed his way. “We’re not!-”

He pouted and tackled Arslan into the side of the hill, the king erupting into a fit of giggles, the ensuing juvenile tussle leaving them breathless with laughter and sore from the rock underfoot. Pinned underneath Elam, Arslan shielded his eyes from the bright midday sun overhead, giving his friend’s head an affectionate pat where it lay on his chest, running his fingers through the shaggy brown hair.

“...I think I’m lying on my bow.” Elam slowly rolled off him and climbed to his feet, brushing off the dirt and sticks from his clothes before reaching down and helping Arslan to his feet, similarly picking grass out of his silver hair.

“When we get back, do your work properly, ok?” Arslan laughed sheepishly. They turned back to the rise, peering over for their quarry.

“Ah, they left…”

**_____**

 

They searched along the hilltops again, heading further into the rocky, forested plateaus, unwilling to return empty-handed. They paused on the edge, overlooking a herd of deer, when a huge snap echoed behind them, accompanied by beastial clamor. The two men slowly turned their heads in unison to look behind them, the grunting and snuffling revealing itself as a boar  stomped its way out of the underbrush, thrashing its head angrily with a bellow. Fast as lightning Elam loosed an arrow into its hide, narrowly missing its eye and enraging it further. The boar charged and they scrambled up the rock face in panic. Arslan nervously swung his bow at it, trying to spook it, too close to have any room to draw an arrow. He could see Elam a short distance away, balanced on a boulder, nocking another arrow into his own bow and aiming at the boar again, only to have his head jerk to the side, distracted by something.

The boar roared at him again.

And a sword came plunging through its skull, quivering with the force it took to punch through bone. Arslan was frozen in shock, gasping for breath as he watched the boar slowly keel over with a thud. The hooded owner dug a boot into its back as they struggled to wriggle their sword out of its head, stumbling back as they pulled it free. Stabbing it into the earth, they leaned over their knees to catch their breath, seemingly just as flustered with the situation as them. A simple white cloak hid most of their features, underneath which Arslan could see plain brown pants and boots on a slender figure. They suddenly stood and stormed over to him, grabbing his collar with a gloved hand, and Arslan was met with a pair of piercing golden eyes. They looked him over up and down searchingly, before softening and gently letting him go.

“You never change I see.” She lowered her hood to free her similarly golden hair, and Arslan’s face slowly split into a wide smile, hands coming up to grasp at hers.

“Etoile? Oh Etoile is that really you?” The king leapt at her, gathering her up into his arms with a surprised squeak from her, the girl unsure where to put her hands. She was looking down shyly as they parted, slowly lifting her gaze to meet Arslan’s radiant beam. “What are you doing here Etoile? Did something happen?”

Etoile pouted a little, glancing to the side. “Can’t I come to visit? You invited me to afterall…” she mumbled. Arslan’s memory was cast back to their lasting meeting, where they said their goodbyes as Etoile returned home and the newly crowned king felt had been struck with a feeling that they’d never meet again. He squeezed her hands tightly.

“Of course you can! I’m just...so surprised, I didn’t receive any word and it’s so soon...I’m so happy to see you again! I’ve always wondered if you were doing well. Did you get your knighthood?”

Etoile smiled a little to hear his consideration, before thrusting her nose in the air. “Of course I did. Who do you think you’re talking to?” Arslan’s joy was infectious as they wore matching grins. Elam off to the side gave a small cough, giving them a start.

“Oh Elam look, it’s Etoile!”

“Yes I’ve been here a while.” Elam gave a small nod in greeting to the female knight, getting the same in return. “Shall we head back to Ecbatana now?”

“Oh yes, I suppose now that we have a guest…” Arslan looked down at the dead boar near their feet. “What shall we do with this?” They all contemplated it quietly.

“Dinner?”

**__________________________________________**

 

Their ride back to Ecbatana was brisk, the boar bouncing along after being slung over the rump of one of the horses, the air filled with their joyous chatter. The pale walls of the city loomed over them with a rosy glow in the dusk, yet the streets were still filled with the lively clamour of markets and livestock. The Parsian folk waved excitedly at their king, some even running up to offer flowers or wares to him, which he graciously accepted, complimenting each and every person in return, until his arms overflowed. Etoile could feel eyes on her, her blonde hair a beacon in the sunlight, but she sensed a lot less hostility in their gaze than she expected. Perhaps the presence of their sovereign alone was enough to allay the fear of seeing a Lusitanian in the city a mere three years after the war.

Relieved of their horses in the courtyard and escorted inside the royal palace, Etoile was quickly overwhelmed with the enthusiasm with which she was greeted, flustered and seemingly in shock at the warm hugs extended by Farangis and Alfreed (and attempted by Gieve), the rest of their old friends offering handshakes and gentle pats on the back. Alfreed hooked an arm around Etoile’s, cooing at her friend and throwing a wink at Arslan.

“Etoile’s become such a pretty thing~”

Etoile glowered at her stubbornly, Arslan smiling sheepishly behind her. Certainly, she had grown into a woman now, her body filled out in such a way that it would be difficult for her to pose as a man like she once did. She had changed, not only was she shapely and lithe, something in the core of her nature had matured, softening her once sharp gaze into something more gentle, like a carpenter finally perfecting their artwork by smoothing out the rough edges. She was a warm hearth burned down from her once blazing wildfire. Etoile’s signature braid now ran across her crown, streaked with warm brown, and she kept two small studs in ears to accompany the old wooden cross on her neck. She still dressed boyishly, with practical pants and boots with a pale tunic, though she lacked the military Lusitanian tabard, perhaps to avoid issues crossing the border, but still kept a sword slung on her belt. It was nice to see her without it, reminding Arslan that they were no longer at war with each other.

“You came just in time, it’s the Shah’s birthday tomorrow!” Etoile threw a surprised glance at Arslan, who clapped his hands together as though he had just remembered as well.

“Oh yes, it is! What a wonderful gift your arrival has been Etoile! You must attend the celebration!” He beamed widely, Elam side-eyeing his sudden enthusiasm for the party.

“Oh, you’re going to be...nineteen right?” Etoile ventured.

“You remember my age?”

“Well, I remember that we’re the same age...Though I already turned nineteen a few months ago…”

Arslan looked disappointed. “We missed it then...we’ll have to celebrate it as well tomorrow then.”

Etoile started to protest, “There’s no need-” before Alfreed tackled her around the waist.

“And we have to get you all dressed up then! It’s a special occasion!” Etoile threw Arslan a panicked look, but he was already nodding in agreement.

“Can you find her a nice room to stay in as well?” He gently squeezed her shoulder, “I must apologise, but I have to leave you now and attend to my work. Elam will surely scold me otherwise.”

“Are you really so busy?”

Arslan gave a resigned shrug and a smile. “During special occasions, yes. I may not see you until tomorrow. Until then, please make yourself at home.” Etoile tensed at that remark, but nodded hesitantly. Arslan’s eyes met with his aides’ in unspoken command before he turned and disappeared into the palace, Elam close on his heels. Etoile watched him go with a wistful expression on her face.

Alfreed sighed dreamily, squeezing her arm, “And she watches him leave, heart longing for her true love~”

Etoile turned and punched her in the arm as hard as possible.

**__________________________________________**

 

Arslan had been buried all night under the conversation of nobles and officials wanting to beguile their way into the king’s favour. Offers of sisters and daughters, gifts of gold and silk and land dripped from their tongues like the sweet _mey_ flowing from caskets. The king sighed wearily, watching his cup fill with the rose coloured liqueur, advisors murmuring in his ears, before deciding he couldn’t bear much more. Arslan waved off Rushan with a sheepish laugh, taking his drink and managing to worm his way out of the conversation with a benign excuse. He slipped back into the party and skirted across to the opposite side of the room, casting a look around the room for his friends. Perhaps Elam would come to his aid. A flash of gold caught his eye and he felt his head turn, drawn to the warmth, and his heart fluttered.

Etoile stood on one of the balconies, bathed in the glow of the falling sun. It glittered through her hair, giving it the appearance of gold silk, tinged with pink, the same rose flush gilding her skin and lips. A beautiful ivory silk dress embraced her curves to her knees, decorated with delicate gold embroidery around the seams and v-shaped neckline. The patterned blue underskirt covered her ankles, a pair of dark slippers on her feet. A jewelled gold and pearl kamarband circled her hips, accentuating the mature shape of her body, small bells hanging on one side swinging with her movements. A soft pink shawl hung around her shoulders, protecting her exposed neck.

A handsome man was by her side, probably trying to charm her judging by the ardent look in his eyes; he could see Etoile trying to be polite but her beautiful eyes were like fire, mouth set in a stubborn line. Even her grouchy expression was cute. Arslan looked at her, actually _looked_ at her for the first time, and felt his throat close up completely. She was like warmth and light given form. The wind picked up suddenly, catching her hair in a curtain of molten gold. As she plucked it from the sky and tucked it back behind her ear, her head turned and she caught his eye, offering him a shy smile. Arslan’s stomach did some sort of painful flop and he stepped backward, cheeks burning and then the ceiling came into view as he tripped on some noble’s robe behind him. Several cries of ‘Your Majesty!’ rang throughout the room as he was helped up, Arslan smiling awkwardly and trying to swat them away. Through their legs he could see Etoile giggling, one hand around her waist, the other covering her mouth, and as much as the breathtaking sight filled his heart with warmth, he found he couldn’t laugh along. He looked down, ears hot, and let himself be lead away by Elam to change his stained tunic.

In the quiet of his chambers, Elam rose an eyebrow at him while handing over a new tunic, dark blue trimmed with gold.

“What was that about?” he asked.

Arslan shrugged off his clothes and slipped an arm into the robe. “What do you mean? I just tripped…”

“You were blushing.”

“Um, well, it was embarrassing…”

“You’re usually quite good at laughing that stuff off though.”

Arslan had to chuckle awkwardly. “I’m not completely shameless Elam…”

Elam shook his head and gave up. The king wasn’t going to share what was distracting him, but he knew his friend well enough to tell that he was acting a little uncharacteristically. Arslan wasn’t a clumsy person by nature. He finished tying the grey sash around his waist and put his hands on his hips. “What do you want to do Arslan?”

The king gave him a grateful smile. “Just give me a little while...the party was tiring me out anyway. I’ll...be outside. I think I need some air.” He affectionately flicked Elam’s nose with his thumb and walked past him, heading away from the gathering to the back of the palace, where he had been privately cultivating a vast garden. The relaxing hobby had grown into a sprawling project of his, and the garden was now large enough for him to disappear into completely and find some peace. The area surrounding the palace courtyard was clean and orderly; pale tiles stretched out in straight boulevards, accompanied by the waterways that nourished the garden. The beds were filled with masses of multi-coloured tulips and shrubs, channels that opened up into lotus laden ponds and star shaped fountains surrounded by carefully structured patterns of native flowers, blooming like a kaleidoscope of life. Arches of lattice were home to climbing roses and ivies, offering shade from the harsh sun. Towards the back he could see the stone gazebo with its intricately patterned ceiling that stood as the border between the ornamental garden and the natural one. Beyond it stretched the man-made forest, paths taking winding routes through the lush undergrowth, filled with cool shade, aroma and peaceful quiet.

Arslan crouched down next to one of the water channels, trying to calm his fluttering heart to the rhythm of the fountain water as he stared at his uncertain face. What was going on with his body? He had always thought of Etoile as beautiful, it was just an objective fact. The sky was blue, water was wet and his friend was very pretty. So why was she affecting him like this now? His heart was just a jumble of a mixed emotions of an intensity he’d never felt before, and he just wanted to stick his head into the aqueduct to quiet them down. Arslan lifted his eyes to the _susans_ reflected in the water, white blooms swaying in the evening breeze. It occurred to him suddenly then, that maybe he should make a bouquet for Etoile. He hadn’t properly welcomed her and thanked her for attending his birthday festival. He had also missed her birthday, he should have gotten her a present; though he supposed he had such short notice and absolutely no idea she was coming. Determined, the young king stood and cast his gaze around his garden. The ornamental section offered a plethora of fragrant blossoms, and he started shuffling around the winding streams, plucking the flowers into his arms. A few stems of the _susans_ , some vibrant _lalh_ of all colours, some gentle white _maryams_ , _narges_ were a bit plain, the _fritillaria_ weren't really suitable for bouquets were they...oh, he must have a _gul_ or two. Or ten. No, he mustn’t go overboard. Arslan flew into his rose garden, excitedly twisting a few choice full blossoms, and laid his whole collection out on the stones before his knees. He twirled a fragrant orange rose in his fingertips, contemplating the composition. The tulips might work as a base, with the roses as a centrepiece. Different colours had different meanings though didn’t they? He really had no idea, Gieve would perhaps know, but he didn’t feel inclined to seek him out. Hopefully Etoile was just as clueless as him.

**__________**

Arslan frowned at the bundle of flowers in his grasp, messily tied in twine. Baby pink Ispahans mixed with yellow and dark pink roses, surrounded by a ring of yellow tulips and white lilies, dotted with purple lilacs. The blossoms drooped and bent at odd angles, the colours and   shapes didn’t match at all, the whole thing just looked dreadfully amateurish. Did Etoile even like flowers? She’d always stubbornly held herself up as a knight before a woman, perhaps she’d think he was trying to belittle her. It struck him then, just how terribly _childish_ his idea was.

“So here’s where you went. You disappeared from your own birthday.” Arslan spun around, instinctively hiding the flowers behind his back. Etoile approached him with a smile, shawl slung around her arms now, showing off her pale collarbones, cross of Yaldabaoth ever present on its cord.

Arslan swallowed and pulled his eyes away, giving her a shy smile in return. “Ah, yes, it was getting a little crowded in there. I just wanted a small celebration, but you can’t escape these things as king.”

Etoile gave a sigh, putting a hand on her hip, “That doesn’t mean you have to abandon me to one either, especially after those two had fun dressing me up.” Arslan smiled apologetically, desperately wanting to tell her that she looked lovely though, she really did, but uncertainty tore at his heart. His grip tightened on the bouquet behind his back, until his knuckles turned white and the blooms crushed in his fingers. Arslan discreetly tossed them over the balcony before Etoile could see them, then walked towards her, hesitantly taking a hand into his own.

“I’ll make it up to you. I’ll walk you around the city tomorrow. We haven’t had the chance to talk and really catch up yet. I’ll be yours for the whole day, agreed?”

Etoile gazed at their joined hands sadly, flexing her fingers, before slipping hers away and smiling at Arslan weakly.

“Alright.”

 

**__________________________________________**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, this is my first long form fic, hopefully I get back into the swing of writing! I'm a very slow writer, so I hope you'll be patient with me, and that I can update in reasonable times. I do a lot of research for my writing, so I'll include explanations for any Persian terms I use :D
> 
> ___________________________________________  
> GLOSSARY
> 
> Chinkara - a species of Middle-Eastern gazelle  
> Kamarband - a jewelled belt from which the word cummerbund was derived  
> Susan - Lily  
> Lalh - Tulip  
> Narges - Daffodil  
> Gul - Rose  
> Fritillaria - Inverted Tulip  
> Maryam - Tuberose  
> Mey - Persian wine  
> Ispahan - a type of Damask rose


	2. Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Surely the words of a child savage would have no effect on the prince of Pars.” He stepped closer to her. “You’ve always had an effect on me.” He murmured, unintentionally huskily.

_________________

**CHAPTER 2  
**

**Old Friends**

_________________

 

 

Arslan stood on the edge of a tower’s parapet, breathing in the crisp morning air, watching the sun cresting the horizon and stirring the city from its slumber. A sleepy Azrael perched on his gloved hand, accepting the strips of meat he was offered with a drowsy trill. Arslan smiled at him affectionately, stroking his crest with a croon, Azrael closing his orange eyes under the gentle kiss the king pressed to his head.

“You’re taking good care of Soraya I hope Azrael.” The goshawk chirped back at him, suddenly taking wing as footsteps echoed behind him; the graceful Kahina ascending the steps to join him in the dawn. She bowed, Arslan greeting her in turn, before lifting her djinn whistle to her lips, seemingly here to spend the morning conferring with the lesser spirits. Arslan closed his eyes, sighing deeply, feeling the cold autumn wind bite through his clothes. Farangis came closer and readjusted his robe over his shoulders where it had slipped, rubbing his back fondly. Arslan lifted his face to the sky, watching the blue clouds bleed into pink like dye drops into water. “May I bother you for some advice Farangis?”

“Of course, my king.”

He never _had_ quite managed to convince everyone to call him Arslan in private.

Arslan sighed and leaned his back against the wall, meeting her eyes shyly. “It’s about Etoile...I want to give her a gift, not only for all the birthdays we’ve missed, but also to welcome her to Pars... But, when I think of the possibilities, all that come to mind are frivolous, feminine trinkets that I do not imagine would be received with appreciation. Etoile is a very practical woman, and I don’t want to accidentally belittle her with a silly gift.”

Farangis smiled at him. “I don’t believe Etoile is as obstinate as you think. I’m sure there’s a part of her that’s flattered to be treated as a woman by at least one person.”

Arslan flopped on to the wall, sighing deeply again, his sleeping braid a tangled mess in the wind. Farangis gently freed his hair, combing it through with her fingers and retying it in a low tail.

“Plenty of people treat her as a woman Farangis. To an irritating degree for her I can tell. Not even a night ago she was trying to kill a man with her eyes. She’s always lived in disguise for that reason, she ‘threw away’ her birth name to pursue her goals. Too many people will not respect a female warrior, or even recognise one. I do not want her to categorise me as the same.”

“This is a lot to worry over for a simple gift.”

“I know, I know. It’s trivial. But still, I can’t help but worry.” He turned back towards her, bashfully fidgeting with the ends of his hair. “...I want her to like it.” He said plainly.

Farangis lovingly rubbed the top of his head, Arslan obediently lowering himself for her to do so. “I think she’ll like anything you give to her, Arslan.”

The king didn’t seem convinced. “Let’s hope so.”

__________________________

 

Arslan usually took his morning meal in his quarters, blearily dragged out of bed by Elam and fed tea and _halim_ , but this morning he took to the communal dining hall, seated on a plush rug before a long table, laden with warm flatbreads, jam, yogurt and honey, meat porridge and lentil soup, and huge bowls of fresh fruit from around the world, that Elam stubbornly pushed out of Arslan’s reach until he finished his protein. Arslan sulked, sipping his _chai tea_ and poking at his omelette with a piece of _barbari_ bread. Farangis had taken a seat further down to his right, partaking of her own tea with a bowl of _adasi_ . Elam nibbled at some bread and honey while Daryun at the other end of the table shovelled _kaleh pacheh_ into his mouth. Etoile quietly poked her head into the room before being tugged inside by Alfreed, pulling her over to sit next to Arslan, who smiled warmly to her. Arslan leaned over and poured her some of the sweet spiced tea, Etoile looking nervously between all of the dishes on the table. After the massive banquets of last night, which included the entirety of that boar, she didn’t know how she could look at food again. Arslan tried to help explain them all briefly with a pointed finger. “Bread, yogurt, fruit, lentils, meat, meat, probably don’t touch the _kaleh pacheh_ unless you know what you’re getting into.”

Upon seeing an eye float to the top of that pot, Etoile quickly agreed and grabbed some bread and jam, with a bunch of grapes. As Arslan started on his next bowl of _dahl,_ he wondered if that wasn’t a rather small meal. He found himself watching her, observing the way her thin fingers tore her bread, looking at the hair tied loosely over one shoulder, covered with a thick patterned shawl.

“I don’t recognise that robe.”

Etoile started, cheeks stuffed with bread. “Ichs Farangshs.” Arslan lifted an amused brow.

She swallowed hastily, “Farangis and Alfreed lent me some clothes. I don’t own a lot to begin with, and it’s not like I had room on my horse for luggage.”

“Of course. Let me know if you need anything. I can have anything you want tailor made.”

Etoile shook a hand, “Don’t waste something like that on me!”

Arslan looked genuinely puzzled. “Why would it be a waste? Better than having them make me yet another tunic. It’s not like it would cost you anything.”

Etoile seemed even more troubled. “I don’t want to be taking advantage.”

He just shrugged. “I don’t mind. I’m offering. You’re an old friend, so you can ask me for anything.”

“Old friend? You do remember the parts where I tried to stab you?”

Arslan grinned at her. “You missed though right? So all’s forgiven. I was never angry about it.”

She sighed, hand on her brow, “I wonder sometimes if you get angry about anything.”

Farangis took the opportunity to lean in. “You should have been there in Sindhura.”

“Farangis!” Arslan protested.

Etoile was immediately intrigued, head snapping between the two. “What happened?”

Farangis smiled at the flustered king. “Oh, he merely threatened the king of Sindhura with cutting his head off and staking it outside his own city.”

Etoile stared at Arslan wide-eyed, actually looking mildly _impressed_ , while he scratched his cheek sheepishly. “He wasn’t king at the time…And I thought he was going to get Daryun killed.”

“So Daryun’s what it takes to get you angry?” Etoile asked.

Arslan pursed his lips. “Well, I don’t like people trying to hurt any of my friends.”

Etoile sighed heavily into her hand. “But people trying to hurt you is fine…” Arslan looked a little too pleased. “You’re going to tell that story to me later.”

He laughed nervously. “I don’t feel like I’m the best person to tell it. And I did promise to show you around Ecbatana today, we’ll be busy.”

Etoile paused to remember, chewing on a grape. “When?”

He smiled. “I’ll meet you in the gardens from last night, when you’re ready.”

________________

 

After finishing their breakfast and dressing for the cool autumn air, they met at the edge of the gardens, near a winding path that lead to one of the smaller side gates out of the palace grounds. Etoile was once again dressed in a practical pair of boots and a long skirt, with a simple white tunic and belt on top. Arslan noticed that his heart had returned to normal, not pounding out of chest at the sight of her like last night, and he blessed every god in the pantheon for it. Arslan tugged on the shawl hanging on his arm and produced it with a flourish, gently draping the embroidered blue silk over her head.

“Here, it would be best for you to wear this, so that we can proceed without being recognised.”

Etoile lifted an eyebrow, appraising Arslan’s own hooded and scarfed appearance.

“You seem well practiced at this.”

Arslan flicked the scarf over his face and struck a thief-like pose, grabbing her hand and leading her along with an exaggerated, squatting gait, which couldn’t help but conjure a giggle from her lips. HIs gut flipped again, apparently not so cured of its ailment. Her hand was soft, though peppered with small scars and calluses, and so much daintier than he remembered. Or perhaps, his own hands had just grown that much, to make hers fit inside so perfectly. His height had certainly exceeded hers, where he had grown to match Narsus, Etoile’s eyes still sat near his collarbones, and it so sorely endeared her to him.

Their hands slipped apart, Arslan bashful of his forwardness, and he turned to give her a sheepish smile. “Elam and I often sneak out of the palace in disguise to enjoy the city, lest I become too exhausted from work. Rushan is always so persistent…”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

Etoile smiled up at him, a hand on her hip, “So the king is shirking his duties now?”

Arslan pouted back. “You try enduring Rushan’s daily pestering to get married.”

Etoile went rigid, looking the other way. “Why _aren’t_ you married? You could have anyone you wanted.”

Arslan gazed up at the sky pensively, “Not anyone…It’s...complex…” he murmured, smile fading from his lips, seeming like that’s all he wanted to say about it. There was a few moments of silence as they walked along, following the sandy walls to the city’s outer circles. Etoile paused, tightening the veil around her head, gazing up at the standards fluttering on the battlements above their heads.

“I don’t recognise that flag…”

Arslan followed her line of sight up, muttering a soft exclamation of realisation. “Oh, yes, I had the national flag of Pars changed.” Etoile frowned at him questioningly, and he gave her a shrug in reply. “It didn’t feel right. Our standard once bore the countenance of Kai Khosrow, the ancient founder of our empire and the ancestor of the royal family...But I am not of royal blood. I do not bear the right to lay claim to Khosrow’s legacy, nor do I have any desire to. This is my Pars, I want to change it for the better and create a new age that will hopefully continue on. It felt only natural to mark this era with a new crest to fly.” Arslan pulled out a nearby banner to show the _Shahbaz_ to Etoile, a great spread-winged golden bird, haloed by a sun. She touched it thoughtfully, tracing the bright yellow threading.

“You really like birds don’t you. Is this supposed to be Azrael?” Arslan couldn’t help but break out in a breathy laugh, ignoring Etoile’s unimpressed glare.

“I suppose I do but, no, it’s not Azrael. I can understand why you would think that though. This is an ancient deity that guided humans to Pars. I could admit that it was inspired by Azrael, and that my personal crest features a bird as well, so I thought it appropriate."

Etoile hummed skeptically, contemplating the emblem, arms crossed. “I still think you just like birds.”

Arslan gave an ambiguous shrug, grinning at her playfully. He ran ahead a little, beckoning Etoile over to the outcrop in the path. Below them sprawled the market sector of the city, a burst of colour and noise glimmering in the sunlight. Masses of people flowed through the streets like sand carried on a water current. Around the edges lay a slew of scaffolded worksites that Arslan pointed out to Etoile.

“There was a lot to rebuild after the war, but I’ve finally moved on to improving the city! With all the freed slaves, there was a lot of housing to build to accommodate all the new families wanting their own home. I’ve also built more schools to educate all the children in the city, and offered compensation to those who offer apprenticeships to former slaves.” He shyly looked to the side, watching her expression, his heart for some reason quietly desiring her approval. But she didn’t reply to him, eyes basking in the sparkling vigor of the city.

They dropped down to walk along the top of walls, watching the workers below scurry about like ants. Arslan looked around himself. “It was around here that you scolded me about the Parsian slave trade…”

Etoile turned, staring at him with raised brows, “You remember stuff like that?”

“Of course I do! That was such a fun day, I remember every moment.” He looked happy recalling the day they met.

“How could you even call that fun? I held a sword to your throat.”

“Well sure, it was a little frightening at the time, but it had also been the most excitement I’d had for a long time! You also opened my eyes.” Arslan turned to look her in the eyes, arms behind his back with a small smile. “All men are equal.” He echoed at her.

Etoile looked taken back, gazing back at him with a lost expression. She seemed almost sad. “Surely the words of a child savage would have no effect on the prince of Pars.”

He stepped closer to her. “You’ve always had an effect on me.” He murmured, unintentionally huskily. Even Etoile appeared flushed. And he felt then that perhaps that was a little too true. He swallowed roughly, turning away to stop his heart spouting words his mind didn’t yet understand. “Let us continue, I have something fun to show you.”

 

Etoile followed closely on his heels as he navigated the maze of streets like he was born to them, weaving betweens carts and stalls and flurries of wildstock racing across the lanes.

They came upon a large domed structure, open to the air through its archways and sunlight, the circular room filled with pens and cages. Arslan gestured in greeting to the two familiar men out front as they walked up. “Hassan, Tareq, a pleasant day to you.”

“And to you, Your Majesty!”

Etoile felt a tad guilty at never having bothered to learn the animal tamers names, but she suppose she had only met them for the briefest of moments. Leave it to Arslan to learn the names of every person he met though. He insisted on introducing Etoile to them, their eyes wide as they connected her to the Lusitanian soldier that had urged them for information all those years ago, Etoile chuckling awkwardly. Arslan gently beckoned her inside, obviously an enthusiastic patron of their trade. Inside the entrance above her towered a very familiar creature, orange ink spills patterning its tan fur as it peered down at her from its long neck. “Isn’t this...?”

Arslan excitedly slid up to her, waiting for this opportunity. “It’s called a _zarafah_ , and it’s from a land far beyond Misr, along with the many other animals here.”

Etoile levelled him with a stupefied look. “You waited eight years to answer that dumb question?”

Arslan bounced happily on his heels, looking far too pleased with himself, like a puppy awaiting praise. He hooked an arm around hers and pulled her towards the other pens.

"Look at what other wondrous creatures they've brought!"

Etoile did have to admit they were indeed fabulous. Her favourite had to be the brilliantly striped horses, striking in their black and white colouring. A zebra so Arslan said, wild horses of the west. He also insisted that the tall, lanky animal of similar colour was indeed a bird, but Etoile was not convinced. A bird that ran instead of flew? That defied the character of a bird. It might have similar features, but so did fish and snakes, and they certainly weren't classified as the same thing! (Arslan exasperatedly questioned what parts of a fish and a snake where the same). As if to mock her, he showed her an even more bizarre animal; a giant rat covered in scales. It's long face poked out from under its dragon-like plates, and Etoile found it to be oddly charming, like a child wearing their parent's armour.

Arslan’s favourite was hidden in the corner, shyly nibbling on its grass. It looked like a cross between a horse and the _zarafah_ , with lanky white-striped legs and a dark umber coat, but without the ridiculous height. It’s white face peered doefully at them, flicking its large fluffy ears. Arslan tried to coax it over with a handful of grass, but it skittered shyly away, Arslan sighing sadly. “I’d so very much like to have a section of my garden devoted to housing exotic animals such as these.”

“Don’t you already have enough to look after?”

“Yes, I know, but still. Animals give me such joy. Animals don’t care about politics.” he said with a wry smile.

“For all the effort you put into getting there, you don’t seem to enjoy your office very much.” Etoile prodded curiously. Arslan motioned for her to follow him, leaving the menagerie and walking back into the streets, heading towards the main avenue.

“It’s not that I hate it. I’m grateful that I had the support to become king and make Pars a better place, in any small way. But the concept of _being_ king in of itself does not make me happy. What makes me happy are my actions. If I could do just as much for my people as a commoner as a king, then I would have happily been born into peasantry. Such things as wealth, power or status do not interest me. If someone came to me today that shared all of my ideals, and promised to carry on the work I’ve started, I would happily hand over the crown and live my life freely as a common man.”

Etoile supposed she really shouldn’t be that surprised by his mindset. “That’s the most anti-ambitious thing I’ve ever said someone say. You really are a pampered rich boy. Most people spend their entire lives yearning for more power, to be rid of the weakness that sees their lives destroyed, and you just want to throw it away after fighting for it so hard.” She spat out bitterly. Arslan regarded her quietly for a moment before adjusting his cloak and casting his gaze down remorsefully.

“I’m sorry. That was selfish and irresponsible for me to suggest. It is presumptuous of me, as you say.” He smiled sadly at her, placing a hand on his chest. “Please disregard it. I’ve never spoken of it to anyone but Elam. It is merely childish daydreaming.”

Etoile turned to apologise for her unintended acerbity, but was blinded by their exit from the side street, the world exploding into a lush kaleidoscope of sights and smells. Before them expanded the legendary Ecbatana markets, the centrepiece of the great continental trade highway. Every note in the air was a merchant hawking their wares, a customer haggling their fares, a rhythm interwoven with the melody of street musicians. The breeze carried the fragrance of livestock and cooking meat, tea and spices of every kind, the musk of roses and the bodies of a thousand people. Arslan quickly took her by the arm to protect her from being swept up in the crowds and guided her through the sea, letting her be entranced by the forest of gaudy clothes and vibrant rugs, the glitter of hand-crafted pottery, carved and inlaid with glass and silver, the hundreds of sacks of bright nuts and spices stacked high and overflowing with their ambrosial riches. Arslan scooted up to a food vendor, gesturing with his fingers for two servings, handing one to Etoile. Her stomach rumbled in complaint; she hadn’t realised how hungry she had become. The Lusitanian regarded the meal skeptically; a warm triangle package of bread, wrapped in paper, but soon her appetite made her bite in eagerly, moaning at the taste of spiced beef, potatoes and onions that spilled out. She wolfed hers down, licking her fingers gratefully. They continued further in, Arslan this time handing her a small, green fruit to try. He took a bite out of his encouragingly, sucking the juice happily, and so Etoile followed suite. Arslan couldn’t help but burst out in gleeful laughter at watching her slam her fist into a nearby stall, rattling it’s occupants, and clutching her hands over her mouth, struggling with the extreme sourness of the delicacy. Her watery eyes glared at him disbelievingly as he continued to eat his with a grin. He took mercy on her at the next stall, buying for her what looked like strips of leather, which chewing on revealed a pleasant, sharply sweet fruity taste. Etoile followed behind Arslan as he ran his errands, nibbling on the treat, watching him buy a small basket from a weaver and then run to the fruit vendor to fill it with fresh peaches. She inquired what he needed a couple dozen peaches for. “A gift.” He replied simply. They dove back into the side streets, deeper into the residential district, leaving the cacophony of the markets far behind until it was just a murmur on the wind. The pair come to a quiet community in the corner of the ward, dotted with families going about their peaceful, daily lives. Arslan raps his knuckles against a worn, wooden door, smiling at Etoile reassuringly. It opens to the face of an equally worn woman, eyes wide in surprise but apparent recognition. She invites them inside warmly, bowing to her king despite Arslan’s insistence otherwise. Within the inner courtyard of the building, dozens of children lifted their heads at their entrance, jumping up with elation to run over to the young monarch, crowding around him with excited yells. Arslan frantically tried to greet them all by name, handing Etoile the basket so he could pet their heads.

Etoile looked at him questioningly. “An orphanage?”

He smiled sadly. “One of many I’ve had to build in the aftermath of the war. I try to visit them occasionally to lift their spirits and see if they need any assistance.” Etoile looked away guiltily, realising she was surrounded by the children of the soldiers she and her people had slaughtered. Arslan placed a soothing hand on her arm, carefully taking the basket from her arms. He knelt down and started handing out the fresh fruit to everyone, their faces lighting up as they enjoyed this rare luxury. Many of the children still stared at Etoile, taking in her golden hair and eyes, features well known to be from Maryam and beyond. She tried to smile awkwardly back at them. One boy tugged on Arslan’s sleeve, looking up at him with wide, curious eyes. “Is the pretty lady your concubine?”

Arslan spluttered a little. “Behnam, where did you learn a word like that?!”

“From Jaleh.”

“Well Behnam, she isn’t, and it’s impolite to assume that of a woman.” He scolded.

“But aren’t kings supposed to have lots of wives? I heard one king had fourteen! What’s the point of being Shah without wives?” the boy chirped.

“Behnam, I didn’t become king to seduce women.” Arslan sighed in exasperation.

Another girl piped up. “Yeah Behnam! His Majesty can do that without being king!”

“Atusa! I do not!”

“Men then!”

“No Jaleh!”

Etoile, who had since picked up on the conversation, hid a smile behind her hand at the sight of Arslan being bullied by a bunch of children. Arslan stood to full height and put his fists on his hips, pouting stubbornly like a commanding mother. “Now, all of you will sit and let me introduce our guest!” The children, to their credit, immediately gathered around Arslan’s feet and sat quietly, savouring their treats with expectant looks. Etoile was reluctantly pulled over to Arslan’s side, not being warned of this at all.

“This woman is a dear friend of mine. Her name is Etoile, and she’s a Lusitanian knight.” A ripple went through the orphanage, and Etoile cast a worried look at Arslan, but he continued confidently. “During the war, even though we were on opposite sides, by chance we managed to become friends. All because we talked to each other.” Arslan knelt among the children, speaking softly. “I can understand your fear, but it is born from ignorance. We all fear the things we don’t know about. Even I do. But do you know how you can conquer fear? With knowledge. As soon as you understand something, it won’t be so scary anymore. And how do we acquire knowledge?”

A small girl in the back raised her hand. “From books?”

Arslan smiled. “That’s true, but not everyone has access to books, or can read. And what if there are no books written about the thing you want to know? There firstly has to be a person with knowledge to write that book. At the most basic level, everyone gains knowledge through speech. When all of you first came to this orphanage, I’m sure you were all frightened. But then you all started speaking to each other, and you weren’t frightened anymore, right? You found the things that linked you together, and became friends. That same principle applies to Lusitania. There are things that make us different, but also things that make us the same. We just have to talk to each other. If we all became friends with each other, there wouldn’t be any more wars.”

“But I heard the Lusitanians burn kids like us!” someone cried out.

Arslan frowned. “Those were a few zealots. Even in the teachings of Zardosht, are there not those who abuse their power for personal gain, or incite others to misdeed? We must not judge the entirety of a people for the actions of the extreme few. We must not assume that the very worst humanity is capable of is what all humanity desires.”

The children all looked between themselves doubtfully. Etoile thought that in that moment, wit the sunlight streaming down and setting his hair aglow, Arslan reminded her of a saint. Arslan gently clasped Etoile’s hand and pulled her down to sit among the children, Etoile stiff and nervous. “Well, how about everyone talks to Etoile and see for yourself? She won’t hurt you.”

________________

 

They sat outside together in the garden behind the orphanage, taking a moment of peace to regain their equilibrium after the tidal wave of children’s voices, a peach in each of their hands. Arslan slowly bit into the soft skin of the fruit, sighing contently, truly his favourite indulgence. Etoile sat with her back against a tree, looking exhausted. Looking at her, Arslan worried that he had asked too much of her without permission.

“I’m sorry for putting you on the spot back there. I didn’t mean to pressure you. I was just hoping that if these children can grow up learning forgiveness and compassion, we can retain peace in the world as long as possible.”

He looked to the sky. “Pars and Lusitania have...never really understood each other. I didn’t understand either, until I met you. To us, you were faceless barbarians, worshipping a strange and violent god. And I suppose to you as well, we were hedonistic infidels that cruelly enslaved others.”

Arslan closed his eyes. “But I believe that rejecting ignorance will help cease the cycle of vengeance that war spawns. I want them to learn that the people who killed their fathers are not evil by nature. Everyone has a family they want to protect, Parsian or not. It’s not the foot soldiers that decide to march into war. That responsibility lies solely on our leaders. They mustn’t resent the common man.”

Etoile sat in silence beside him, turning the peach over in her hands.

Arslan sighed. “Each friend we make is one less enemy. If every Parsian had one Lusitanian friend, we’d all cease to hate one another. Because it only takes one friend to stop a war, right?” He glanced at her pointedly.

Etoile turned her head away. “You give me too much credit.”

“I could never declare war on Lusitania, because of you. For every man I cut down, I would remember that these are your people, I would wonder, was that man your father? Your uncle? The one you loved? Did I take someone from you, like I was taken from? I couldn’t bear the thought of it, of causing you pain.”

Etoile flushed, digging her fingers into the peach. _“_ You don’t have to worry about any of those things…” she mumbled to herself. “What if the differences between us are just too great? Lusitanians are taught from birth to despise those not of our faith, that they are monsters determined to destroy us. Our countries, our culture, our food, our language, everything is different. How can you expect to reconcile all of that?”

Arslan perked up. “That difference is what makes it exciting! There’s so much to learn and share together. And despite all of our conflicts, we became friends in the end, didn’t we?” he asked, a tinge of worry in his voice.

Etoile was taken back, needing a few moments to think. “Well...yes, we did,” she mumbled reluctantly, Arslan beaming in relief, “but I’m just one person out of millions, that doesn’t account for much.”

“But by chance you managed to befriend the _king_. Plus, you prove that there are Lusitanians amenable to change. Like Parahuda was too. If I had managed to save Count Baracion that day, I’m sure he would have become a great ally to us as well.”

They shared a tense moment of silence for the man, before Etoile huffed. “Earlier...you mentioned that you weren’t of royal blood...is that really true?”

Arslan’s eyes widened, before giving a strained smile, tucking his arms behind his back. “I guess I never did fully explain to you what I found out, before you left.” Arslan closed his eyes, seemingly bracing himself. “My...the former _Shah_ Andragoras, and Tahamine, were not my birth parents. It seems that the royal child born to Tahamine was a girl. Tahamine was left barren, and Andragoras had no need for a child that could not inherit the throne, so he stole her away and replaced her with me. I was...just the child of an ordinary knight it seems, much like you. My mother when I was young, so my father sold me to the palace. I was raised by a wet nurse outside of the palace until she and her husband were...killed.” He grimaced in pain at that memory. Etoile’s gold eyes were wide in shock and sympathy.

“I can understand why they didn’t love me now at least, I was just someone else’s unwanted child. Just a substitute. I never got the chance to ask Andragoras what his intentions were though. Perhaps he never really intended for me to ascend to the throne.” He stared off into the distance, thoughtful. Etoile meanwhile stared at her feet, eyes deep with sorrow and pain. Arslan gently touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring down the mood. It really doesn’t bother me so much, so please don’t concern yourself.”

Etoile bit her lip. “Why tell me all of this? This is surely something so intimate…”

Arslan blinked. “I suppose. Somehow, I’ve always found you very easy to talk to, about anything. And you’re one of my trusted friends. I don’t want to keep any secrets from my friends, I want to lay everything bare, otherwise I cannot feel like I deserve their devotion.”

Etoile lightly punched him in the shoulder, Arslan silently pretending to be blown away. “Dumb naive king. Where is the former queen now? I haven’t seen her.”

“Tahamine? She requested to be allowed to return home to Badakhshan. Now that I know the truth we’re...trying to make amends, at least a little. We don’t share blood, but she’s the only mother I know, and my father wronged her. I can’t bring myself to resent her for her bitterness. I promised her that I’d look for her daughter whenever possible.”

“What will you do after you find her? And bring her to Tahamine?”

Arslan shrugged. “Who knows. That would depend on her. She may have her own normal life that she enjoys just fine. Other people would insist that I marry her to reinstate the royal bloodline but…” He trailed off, troubled. He looked to her, seeing her attentive gaze, and coughed in embarrassment, throat a little dry, “I’m so sorry. I promised to spend the day with you, but I’ve done all of the talking haven’t I? And I so wanted to know how you’ve been doing.”

Etoile tensed. “I haven’t...been doing anything worthy of note.” She shoved a piece of the mutilated peach into her mouth. “Just...knightly...stuff.”

“I’d very much like to know what the situation is like in Lusitania at the moment, if you would feel comfortable sharing that with me.” Arslan rose to his feet, brushing the grass off his _shalvar_ and holding a hand out to Etoile. “Come, dusk is falling. Once we return to the palace, won’t you share a pot of tea with me and tell me all you can?”

Etoile took his hand and rose as well, nodding quietly. They passed back through the orphanage, the children crying their farewells to the king, a few girls even waving to Etoile, and stepped out into the street, the dusk settling a pink and purple glow over the city. The dying sunlight whipped up the cold autumn wind, and they both wrapped their cloaks tightly around themselves. They started the long walk back to the palace, passing all the stalls and vendors packing up for the night, only to be replaced by the more salacious trades. Taverns pulled their tables out for drinking and gambling in the cool air, coloured lanterns went up one by one across the city like fireflies waking from slumber. Etoile paused to admire a stall selling lanterns of all sizes, the owner lighting each of them to demonstrate their beauty in the dusk. They were truly beautiful, shards of coloured glass set in intricate, spiralling geometric mosaics. Arslan stood beside her, watching the illumination dance in her golden eyes until they themselves were like the lanterns, radiant and enchanting. He was captivated, staring hard enough to notice that even some of her eyelashes were gold to match her hair, glimmering as she blinked, and he thought it absolutely delightful. A brush against his ankle startled him from his trance, looking down to spot a handful of fowl, loose from their pens.

Arslan squatted by the chickens, smiling as the curious hens were drawn to him, ruffling their feathers against his knees. He scooped one up in his arms, cuddling it softly, enjoying its fragile warmth. Etoile turned around mid-question just in time to see him planting a kiss on the hen, and she coughed loudly. “What are you doing?”

Arslan looked up in panic, flustered at being caught in the act. “N-Nothing!”

Etoile side-eyed him with scepticism. “Bird fetish.” She mumbled under her breath. Arslan chuckled awkwardly, handing the bird back to its owner and helping them get the rest.

Down the street, a couple of soldiers barrelled their way out of an inn, filling it with their rambunctious, drunken laughter. They staggered arm-in-arm towards them, rambling off barely comprehensible stories to each other. The closer one peered at Etoile as they drew near, squinting down his cherry coloured nose.

“Don’t I know youuu?” he growled.

Etoile turned away dismissively. “I doubt it. I’m not from around here.”

The soldier grabbed her shoulder roughly and shoved her into view. “Yeah, I do. You’re that wench that sneered at me in Peshawar! I woke up in a fucking ditch!”

Etoile glared up at him. “I’m surprised you remember…” she muttered under her breath. Arslan rose quietly behind her, watching the altercation tensely, ready to move.

“Well, aren’t ya gonna apologise? Show some respect for your betters this time?!” The Parsian soldier shoved her hard in the chest. Arslan, who had been expecting a repeat of the last time, was shocked as Etoile instead stumbled back, missing her weak grab at his arm. Arslan flew in, catching her by the waist and drawing his short sword in a flash. It was nothing dangerous but enough to get the message across, the gleam lighting the sovereign’s face clearly for all to see.

“Those who would accost an unarmed woman half their size are betters only to vermin.” He growled huskily.

The two men paled, sobriety flooding their body at unexpectedly seeing their king’s burning eyes in such an innocuous side street. They bowed frantically before turning and scampering away into the darkness to avoid discipline. Arslan turned back to Etoile in concern, seeing her breathing heavily in his arm. “Etoile, are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

Etoile shoved him away stubbornly, staggering over to the wall to brace herself. “I’m fine…”

The way she trembled certainly did not look fine. For such a simple push, she looked frighteningly pale and exhausted. “What’s wrong? Do you need me to carry you back?” he pressed, reaching out to her.

Etoile slapped his hand away. “I said that I was fine! _Leave me alone!_ ” she snarled at him. He flinched back, eyes swimming with hurt and concern. “Just go Arslan! Go back home! Don’t touch me!”

He was torn, reluctant to leave her side when she was in such obvious distress, where she had no protection, but the murderous look in her eyes pushed him into obedience. He backed away slowly, watching Etoile obstinately stand her ground. “I’ll be waiting for you Etoile. Don’t...don’t take too long, it’s getting dark.” She didn’t answer him, just ushered him further away. Arslan’s heart was clouded with doubt and anxiety as he turned away, biting his lip.

Once Etoile saw his back disappear around the corner, she crumpled to the ground.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the uneventful chapter! I promise that things will pick up a bit from here.
> 
> Arslan’s parentage: I’m embellishing the story from the novel, but this is canon. I’m also going to be ignoring volume 16 and its revelations, because it’s stupid.  
> Etoile’s family: I’ll be making up a lot of her family, since we don’t get a lot of information, but I am including what canon we do know, and the implications of it. Also, in the anime Etoile said she was adopted [which makes no sense when you think about it], this is not the case in the novels.  
> ___________________  
> GLOSSARY
> 
> Halim - meat porridge  
> Barbari - a type of flatbread  
> Adasi - lentil soup  
> Kaleh Pacheh - a Persian broth made from an entire sheep, including eyes and hooves.  
> Shahbaz - a mythical Persian eagle god used as a standard during the Achaemenid era  
> Goshawk - i’ve determined that Azrael’s species (based on his appearance in the modern anime and Persian records of falconry) to be the Northern Goshawk.  
> Shalvar - Loose Persian pants


	3. Spirit Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As soon as Etoile finished her meal and leaned back with a sigh, Arslan reached out to clasp her hand firmly, ignoring her hesitant expression. “There’s something I’d like to show you Etoile.”

**_______________________**

**CHAPTER 3**

**Spirit Lost**

**_________________________**

 

Arslan nervously chewed his lip, sitting by Etoile’s bedside and watching her sleep restlessly. Farangis massaged his shoulder soothingly, wringing a damp cloth out to dab Etoile’s sweaty skin. Despite what he said to her, Arslan could never leave the side of a friend in trouble. He’d stayed, hidden just past the wall of the turn-off, silently guarding Etoile. The sun dipped down into darkness and Arslan had worriedly peeked behind the corner, seeing her on the ground, motionless, and rushed over to her side. She was pale and clammy, and he had quickly scooped her up into his arms, holding her close, feeling a feverish warmth. She was light, far too light for what he expected from an athletic girl, and this time he couldn’t put it down to his own growth in strength. He’d raced back to the palace as fast as he could without jostling her, yelling at the first guard he saw to find Farangis while he took Etoile to her room.

“She’ll be alright Arslan. It doesn’t seem to be serious, possibly just exhaustion or a flu.” Said Farangis.

Arslan shook his head. “But we didn’t do anything but walk around today. Can you really imagine Etoile becoming exhausted from just that?”

“Perhaps not, but maybe she was already sick and just hiding it. You’ll have to ask her in the morning.” Farangis petted his hair down gently before ushering him from the room. “Go rest now. She’s safe with me.”

The king reluctantly retreated to his chambers, biting his lip. His desk was piled high with scrolls and messages and books he never seemed to have time to read. Elam was knelt by the hearth feeding the flame used parchment, looking up to meet Arslan’s despondent gaze. The _dabir_ rose and walked over to ruffle Arslan’s hair, guiding him over to sit at the low table where his dinner was served, awaiting him. Arslan sighed and slumped over his meal, picking at the pomegranate seeds.

“Did you enjoy yourself today?” Elam questioned.

Arslan hummed quietly in affirmation, pushing the rice around the bowl with his spoon. Elam poured him some hot tea and dumped a pile of scrolls in front of him, staring at him pointedly, ignoring the king’s pleading eyes.

“You’ve been avoiding it all day!” Elam chided.

Arslan pouted. ‘I know that. It wasn’t on purpose, I just wanted to spend some time with an old friend...and now she’s taken ill somehow…”

Elam’s gaze softened, he knew how much Arslan’s gentle heart must be fretting. Elam didn’t care _very_ much for the woman, she was rude and unruly, and wholly disrespectful to his shah (though still more tolerable than Alfreed, despite the stabbing), but he could tell Arslan had a soft spot for her, and so he worried on his behalf as well. He moved around the table to sit by Arslan’s side, leaning against him.

“She’ll be fine, she’s in Farangis’ hands now right? That woman survived almost being executed did she not? And walking into our camp and trying to kill you. And the assault on the keep. And an entire war her side lost.” Elam counted on his fingers. “She’s been in more danger while with her own people than she ever has under your care. I doubt a fever will fell her.”

Arslan smiled at Elam’s attempt to reassure him. “I suppose you are correct.” He looked over the papers with a sigh, trying to memorise the information for the upcoming meeting.

_________________________

 Arslan was up early the next morning, breath frosting in the air as he walked around his garden. He would not call himself a morning person by any means, merely the nature of his life required him to be awake and hard at work with the daylight, and at the worst of times, his only free moments came with the break of dawn. He knelt down among the shrubs, breathing in the scent of flowers that the crisp morning air brought out. Arslan grabbed a pair of shears from his pocket, carefully cutting a handful of lush sage blossoms. Along with a pitcher of water, he brought them to Etoile’s room in the palace. He quietly appreciated the girls for giving her a room close to theirs, the friends clustered together for company, the pseudo-guestwing only a dog-leg away from the royal quarters. Arslan entered as quietly as he could; he felt a little apprehensive entering a woman’s room without permission, but he doubted she would be awake any time soon. The room was still dim, the window facing south, only traces of pink filtering in through the shutters. He trod quietly across the floor, footsteps muffled by the customary thick rugs. The entrance of the modest room had a small sitting area; a collection of cushions and mats covered the seating under the window across from the door. Next to that rested the hearth that warmed the whole room, currently cold and dark. Stepping left, Arslan brushed aside the heavy curtains covering the archway to the bed itself, carefully walking over to place the pitcher on the bedside table, pouring a little water into the empty vase there and stuffing the sage inside. Turning his attention to Etoile, Arslan slowly sat on the edge of bed, rubbing a hand on his thigh to warm his cold skin so he could rest a palm on her forehead. ‘ _She doesn’t seem to have a fever at least_ ’ he thought with relief. The young woman was sound asleep, blonde hair splayed out messily over the cushions, looking reasonably at peace. Arslan sighed with a smile, pulling the blankets up further to keep her warm, tucking her arms in. Concern assuaged for the time being, he tiptoed out, closing the door behind him gently and beginning the walk back to his own room.  
The bird song of early morning was punctuated by a loud double clang; a rhythmic _clack clack_ of steel striking wood. Arslan could help but peek out the window in curiousity, smiling as his feet changed course.

 “Kishward!” The general turned to see Arslan standing confidently with a beam, leaning his weight on a long, elegant glaive.

“Your MAJESTY!” Boomed Kishward happily into the morning air, twirling his two swords into a battle stance. “Do you think it wise to face me with that?” He taunted.

Arslan answered with a twirl of his own, grinning as he braced himself. “I’ll never improve unless I try right?”

They met in an enthusiastic clash of steel, beginning a predatory dance around each other. Arslan had only recently begun training with the new weapon, suggesting to Daryun that he would benefit from understanding the different styles of combat, even if only when faced with the receiving end. His agile feet carried him around the veteran warrior, parrying the swift blows. Arslan was adept at using both ends of the spear; years of watching Daryun had given him the strategic eye for utilising the blunt end for defense and feints, but his attacks were still clumsy, unaccustomed to the length and reach of the polearm. Slowly but surely, Kishward’s carefully disciplined ferocity pushed Arslan back, each loud _clang_ of a blow blocked by his shaft shuddering down his arms, numbing his grip. Arslan fought back furiously, panting for breath, till his back was pressed to the wall. He gave one last thrust with the pole end. Kishward unexpectedly dropped a sword, grabbed the shaft and tugged Arslan off his feet. Arslan yelped, stumbling into Kishward’s chest. He caught the startled king, breaking into a good-natured laugh, letting their weapons clatter to the floor. Arslan leaned over his knees, trying to catch his breath, as Kishward clapped him on the back with two heavy thumps. “Hah! We’ll make a warrior out of you yet Your Majesty!”

Arslan choked out a small laugh. “If you say so…”

_____________________

 As Arslan entered the dining hall for lunch, he sighed in relief to see Etoile seated there, slowly munching her way through a bowl of _fesenjan_. He strode over to sit beside her, greeting her with a gentle touch on the shoulder. She looked up at him with a weary expression.

“How are you feeling?” He asked quietly.

“I’m fine…” She mumbled, chewing on a piece of bread.

Arslan bit into a fresh plum, watching her closely. Apart from the sleepiness, he couldn’t see anything too much wrong with her. He wished she wasn’t quite so stubborn though so she’d just be open with him, as endearing as it was. He poured himself some _nabeed_ and yawned, peering at her over the rim of his glass. “Have you taken ill recently? I was really worried when you collapsed like that.”

Etoile faltered, choking on her spoon a little. “I-I’m fine. I guess I was still tired from the journey from Lusitania. I-It’s a long way to travel by one’s self.” She didn’t meet his eyes, sipping a glass of water, though she did briefly lift her gaze to glare at him, silently judging him for not obeying her order to leave. Arslan stared unapologetically back. It seemed plausible enough, but it still didn’t feel right. She felt...fragile last night.

As soon as Etoile finished her meal and leaned back with a sigh, Arslan reached out to clasp her hand firmly, ignoring her hesitant expression. “There’s something I’d like to show you Etoile.”

 

He slowly lead her to an eyrie on the other side of the gardens; a tall tower that had been converted into an aviary for the royal hunting birds. The spiral staircase lead to the highest room, the circular room lined with large, mostly empty cages on one side, the other littered with tables filled with equipment and bird-related supplies. Both the window and the cages were open wide to the sky, allowing the hawks free roam in and out. Inside the only occupied cage lay a massive nest of twigs and fleece, guarded over by a large, nervous looking red-eyed hawk. The other orange-eyed bird, which Etoile recognised as Azrael, she hoped, happily waddled out to greet Arslan. Arslan happily stroked his crest, fussing over the bird like his own child. Setting him aside, Arslan carefully approached the other bird, whispering to it soothingly and offering it a cut of meat. “Ssh, that’s a good girl Soraya.”

She gradually allowed Arslan to push her to the side and scoop up the chittering balls of fluff hidden beneath her. He quickly beckoned Etoile over to his side, cooing at the baby hawks. “Look at my babies~”

Etoile did have to admit they were cute, though a bit awkward looking. The three chicks were covered in white down, with a small black beak and large grey eyes on a big head, all chirping up at Arslan, probably not more than a week old. It did manage to bring a small smile to her lips.

“You bred Azrael?”

Arslan nodded. “I thought he might be lonely, and he was getting old, so I had Kishward find me a female of his species. Azrael was originally his bird, but I love him so much, I thought I’d take up a bit of falconry.” He started pointing to each chick, “That one is Ezekiel, he’ll replace Azrael when I retire him. That one is Siavash, I’m going to gift him to Daryun.” He then gently picked up the last one and turned to Etoile. “And this little girl is Pahaliah. This one is yours.”

Etoile froze. “Mine?”

Arslan smiled. ‘I’ve been struggling to find a good present for you, and then I realised that a companion is a far greater gift than a material possession. I hope she can become a source of comfort and protection to you as Azrael has been to me.”

Etoile stepped backwards, shaking her head. Her fists and eyes were clenched shut as she trembled, turning her face away. “I can’t…I don’t deserve something as precious as this Arslan.”

“What are you saying? It’s not about worthiness.” He said with a confused frown.

She shook her head vehemently, turning to flee down the stairs. Arslan hurriedly returned all the babies to their nest as quickly and as gently as he could before chasing after her. The light blinded him momentarily as he stepped out of the aviary, squinting through the trees to look for her. She hadn’t gotten far, slowly limping through the forest garden to his immediate concern. Arslan jogged up to her, clutching at her hand. “Etoile, what’s wrong?”

She spun around, flinging his hand off. “Stop it! I didn’t travel all this way, after all this time, to become a burden to you!”

Arslan was shocked to see tears forming in her eyes, cheeks flushed with red. She hung her head low in shame, fists shaking. “I don’t...you’ve already done so much for me...and I...I’ve never even thanked you, there’s nothing I _can_ do to thank you, to repay you...And now I can’t ever...I can’t do anything for anyone!”

Arslan drew close, trying to shush her, rubbing his thumbs into her shoulders. “Ssh, what are you talking about? I don’t need thanks, I just want you to be happy.”

She shook her head, starting to cry in her hands. “Stop being so kind to me...stop adding to my debt...I can’t repay it…I’m useless...”

Arslan was distraught, watching the strong girl he knew crumble in front of him. He desperately tried to pull her closer, to pull away her hands so he could stem her tears.

“Nothing you say could ever convince me to stop caring about you Etoile.”

His words only seemed to make her cry harder. It was all Arslan could do; to hold her tight and be the gutter for her tears, terrified of this sudden collapse of her character.. He swayed her side to side, desperate to comfort her. Her fingers clutched at the back of his tunic, pleading for strength.

Once her sobbing died down a little, he leaned back to cup her face, rubbing the dampness from her cheeks, guiding her backwards to a garden seat.

“Please Etoile, tell me what’s happened to you…” he whispered to her.

Etoile looked into his deep blue eyes and felt more than saw the immense affection and concern he had for her, and she gave in. Both her body and her heart ached with pain and fatigue, and there was no one she trusted more than Arslan now. So she let him sit her down, tucked under his arm, drew a shuddering breath and started to tell him her story; how she had returned home to a mostly dead family, of working to get her knighthood, of her grandfather passing away, of Lusitania ripping itself apart in civil war and political discord and selfish noble bickering, of fighting for her people but it all ultimately amounting to nothing because she was just a single person, a single girl with no name, no influence and no power to save anyone. She told him of being injured by the person she was trying to help; an iron bar striking her knee and leaving her crippled and on the verge of death, sick and dying all alone. Of spending months regaining the feeling in her leg, learning to walk again, but it’s never quite been the same again, never quite there, never quite strong enough to hold her weight in battle. Of all of her life’s work and dreams lost in one injury. She told him everything, of being alone and lost and hopeless, because she had nothing left.

Arslan slowly knelt in front of her, gently lifting her skirt to brush his fingers across the scar disfiguring her right knee. Droplets splashed across his hands, and he lifted his eyes to Etoile’s tear stained face. She bit her lip, one trembling hand touching his hair. “I’m sorry Arslan, I can’t do anything for you. I-I didn’t come here to beg you to take care of me, I didn’t. I just wanted to thank you, in some way, for everything, and then leave. Because I realised that I had never said it…”

Arslan felt a stab of guilt at his behaviour over the past couple of days. Here he had been flustered and distracted like a child, when Etoile had been secretly suffering, holding in so much despair and remorse. His silly infatuation isn’t what she needed from him right now. She needed someone to help shoulder this grief, to support her shattered spirit and collect all the broken shards. The girl he remembered was radiant; she was fierce and stubborn and wonderfully, frighteningly passionate about her beliefs; even when they conflicted with his, he admired her for that. She lit up his soul like the sun, without even realising her words always managed to resonate with him, carving them deep for him to remember. His fourteen year old self had revered that ferocity she had, something he had never managed to muster within his own spirit and once desperately saw its absence in his own character as a flaw, surely as did Andragoras and all of the court.The midday sun shone brightly down through the trees, shifting dappled light catching on her golden crown. It felt obscene to witness such sorrow in the warm sunlight, when tears and pain were normally relegated to darkness and rain. Etoile needed him. He needed to be the best friend he could be for her.

Arslan shook his head, squeezing her hand and wrapped his other arm around her waist, burying himself in her. “You’re not leaving Etoile...not like this...You’re my dear friend, and for as long as I live, you’ll always have a home here.”

Etoile bit her trembling lip, trying to push him away. “I don’t want to be some burdensome waif...There’s nothing I can do for you Arslan. I’ve shamed my family enough with my failures.”

“I don’t believe that.” Arslan said firmly. “Remember that time we met at Peshawar? I was struggling with a lot of self doubt then, but you said exactly what I needed to hear in that moment, and I’ve always kept those words with me. Thanks to you, I was able to find the resolve to continue...Maybe now, I can do the same for you...”

Arslan took a deep breath, clasping her hands and looking resolutely up at her. “You were born into knighthood, but maybe you don’t have to be bound to it. Maybe you can become something more. Regardless of whether you take the path of a knight or not, perhaps simply bringing good into the world is enough to make your family proud, however you achieve that. Is that not the core spirit of being a knight? Protecting the weak and serving justice. A sword is not your only weapon in that endeavour. You can still help.”

Etoile’s lip quivered, her voice cracking. “But the sword is all I know...”

He smiled sadly. “That’s all right. When I first started my journey to retake Pars, I didn’t know much of anything. I didn’t know how to lead an army, how to strategise a battle, how to inspire my people. I wasn’t even really all that good at the sword. All I did was lean on the people around me. But, being a brilliant swordsman is all well and good, but it’s not what changes the world Etoile. No matter how many obstacles you cut down before your face, it won’t solve poverty and inequality and injustice. Those are things that we face together, as a people. And your future; we’ll face that together as well.”

“I don’t belong here...” She sobbed quietly, body curling inward.

Arslan tenderly stroked her hands. “Maybe one day you will.”

 

They sat for a while longer in silence, Etoile limp in his arms, Arslan stroking his thumb against her shoulder. Her eyes and cheeks were flushed red, and she looked drained to the bone, the weight of fifty worlds in her heart. ‘ _She must have been bottling this all up for months’._ Arslan thought. A quiet caw alerted him to Azrael’s company on the bench with them, staring at the pair. Arslan gently took Etoile’s hand and brought it to Azrael’s breast, guiding her fingers to stroke his soft feathers.

“I’m going to need to teach you how to command a hawk…” Arslan mused quietly.

Etoile wearily opened her eyes, sniffling a little. “I can’t...I’m not good with animals…”

Arslan squeezed her gently. “Yes you can. Imagine it, you’ll be majestic with a bird on your arm.”

Etoile smiled a tiny bit. “Azrael scares me. The way you can control that bird is witchcraft.”

“Witchcraft I’m going to teach you.” He reminded. “You’ll be a warrior with a guardian angel.”

She snorted quietly, hiding a sad smile. She was no warrior anymore, but his confidence in her was touching, at least. He was a silly king like no other.

Arslan leaned down to pluck a purple milkvetch flower from the bed beside the bench and tucked it into Etoile’s braid. She squirmed in embarrassment while he hopped to his feet, reaching for her hands to pull her up with him, keeping a firm grip to lend her support.

“Come over here.”

Etoile obediently followed him as he pulled her several yards away to the grassy area in front of them, guiding her to sit down in the warm sun. She looked at him questionly while he smiled down at her.

“You look tired. Rest awhile. I’m going to go fetch something.”

Etoile resigned herself to laying down in the grass, watching the clouds pass behind the swaying tree canopy above her as his footsteps faded away. She rubbed at her face, tight with stained tears, and sighed. Fatigue permeated her body; the emotional kind; the kind that builds and builds over months and only gets released all at once in one ugly tidal wave of grief. Embarrassment knotted her stomach thinking of how she let herself go to pieces in front of Arslan, but really, who else did she have left in the world now? She trusted him to not pity her. Her fingers dug into the grass, taking a deep breath and just...taking a moment to ground herself in the world. Feeling the pull of the earth, the turning of the heavens, the sky, the sun, the smell of flowers. This was Pars. Right now, she existed here. She was alive. It hurt. Being alive hurt. But it was a sin to discard your own life. Yaldabaoth was making her live on. Perhaps it was sinful that being near Arslan made her feel a little better. But she had long since reached the point of desperation. She just wanted someone to tell her that she was going to be ok.

That her life hadn’t been meaningless.

That she wasn’t alone.

____________________

 Arslan returned to find her peacefully asleep in the grass. His eyes crinkled warmly, quietly sitting himself down beside her, along with a laden tray and a book. He leaned over her, watching the light catch in her hair. Something inside of him ached, noticing just how beautiful she had become, despite her hardships. Hesitantly he reached out and tenderly brushed his fingers over her brow, stealing a moment of selfish indulgence. Arslan closed his eyes and forced down the feeling that had been growing in his heart to a deep place with a shuddering breath. He dragged his hand to her shoulder, gently rocking her awake. Etoile groaned, rubbing at her eyes.

“I’m sorry to wake you when you were finally getting some rest, but I brought you something that might help.” Arslan murmured, helping her to sit up. He set out a beautifully ornate glass for her, the bottom half encased in carved gold with a curled handle, and grabbed the matching teapot, filling her cup with the amber liquid. Etoile watched a couple of rose petals float to the surface, sniffing the herbal drink. “It’s a rose and ginger tea. Elam often brings it to me when I have a headache, so I thought perhaps it might help a little with your pains.” Arslan explained softly. He offered her up a bowl of sugarcubes, Etoile taking one gratefully and popping it in her mouth before taking a sip of tea.

“You Parsians really like your tea don’t you.” Etoile mused sleepily.

Arslan poured himself a glass before answering curiously. “Well I suppose we do have it at every meal. Do Lusitanians not drink tea?” He grabbed a small honey biscuit from the tray.

Etoile shrugged. “Not really. We mainly drink wines.” She leaned over and dropped several more sugar cubes into her tea, ignoring Arslan’s look of disgust.

“Well, I suppose you’ll have to get accustomed to it.”

Etoile wrinkled her nose. Arslan responded by crumbling the biscuit in his hand and throwing a chunk at it. She snapped at the air, trying to eat the pieces he was throwing at her, the pair devolving into childish giggles as she joined him in throwing biscuit at each other. A cough sounded behind them and they started, twisting around to look up. A chunk of biscuit bounced off Arslan’s cheek as he sheepishly greeted Elam. The unimpressed, yet unsurprised, scribe knelt down and handed Arslan a small rotulus. He curiously unfurled it, expression slowly sombering as he read. He nodded to Elam, informing him he’d be right there and sending him on ahead, before turned to Etoile, gently laying a hand on hers.

“I have to go, a council is gathering.”

Etoile frowned in concern. “Has something bad happened?”

Arslan smiled reassuringly. “It’s nothing to be worried about. Just economic business. Promise me something, before I go?” Etoile nodded hesitantly. “Will you talk you everyone about what happened to you, like you told me?” She stiffened. Arslan squeezed her hands. “We’re all here for you. If they know, they can support you. Tell Farangis and Alfreed at least. I can talk to everyone else if it makes you uncomfortable, if you like?”

Etoile chewed her lip, before giving out a quiet ok. Arslan smiled, leaning over to give her a brief hug. “Get some rest ok? Just call for anything you need, the servants will listen to you. I’ll send one along to you if I see them.”

He pushed the rest of the honey biscuits that they hadn’t decimated into her hands and briskly followed Elam into the palace.

 ______

Arslan jogged to catch up to Elam’s fleet steps, quietly falling into step, gaze set on the floor.

“You look down, Your Majesty. Has something happened with Etoile?” Elam questioned.

Arslan’s eyes flicked up to him, and he took a deep breath. “Elam she...Etoile has suffered greatly. She was injured back in her homeland...and left crippled. Her family have all perished and she has no one left in the world to turn to.”

Elam turned to look at him, shock written across his face. “She did not seem so incapable on arrival.”

Arslan smiled sadly. “I imagine she was doing her best to conceal it. She is a prideful, obstinate woman. It hurts, to have your identity stripped away, let alone to admit to yourself. I cannot bear to see her so broken…” He linked his arm with Elam’s to slow his pace, gradually coming to a halt outside the council chambers. “Elam, promise me you’ll be kind to her? Please take care of her when I’m not around. She needs us.” The shah’s eyes swam with empathetic anguish, seeming to make them a deeper blue than usual.

Elam squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, brushing the grass and crumbs from his tunic in an attempt to make his king presentable. “If that is what you desire, I shall endeavour to do so. It is not as though I dislike her.”

Arslan smiled gratefully, leaning in to wrap his arms around Elam’s neck and press his cheek to his own. “Thank you _aziz-am_.” He murmured.

Elam huffed, straightening Arslan’s tunic. “Shall we then?” he said, opening the door to the council chamber.

All the men rose to their feet as they entered the room, greeting him with a chorus of ‘Your Majesty’ and a bow. Arslan nodded in reply, gesturing for everyone to take their seats. The high vaulted ceiling painted floor to peaks mirrored the embroidered rugs beneath their feet as Arslan stepped up to take his place at the fore of the low table, folding his legs underneath him. Elam knelt behind him, quietly laying out the business of the day on the table. To Arslan’s right sat his oldest friend and _Eran_ ; Kishward, smiling at him warmly. Beside him sat the greying _Framadar_ ; Rushan. Along Arslan’s left sat two less personal companions. _Darandarzbad_ Darayavahush sat with a solemn expression. Dark thinning hair matched dark eyes in wrinkled sockets. What might have once been a handsome, angular face was marred with the pudginess of over-indulgence that middle-aged nobles seemed to acquire. His robes sat similarly taut on his stomach and gaudy rings tight around thick fingers. He had the unfortunate lot of reminding Arslan all together a little too much of Hodir, only with more hair, or perhaps a fatter Andragoras, which did not endear him to much affection from the king. And finally, towards the end of the table sat the _Hirbad;_ Kartir. The diminutive Rahenma priest was dressed in all white robes, with a little white cap tipped with a red tassle. Only his wide eyes peered out from a mass of wiry grey beard, loosely tied halfway down with a beaded cord. These were the four most powerful men in the empire; the pillars of military, state, law and church.

Arslan looked down at the map spread before him. The whole of the Parsian empire was drawn out, reaching from water borders north to south, bleeding into the western continent and Misr at the right. Sindhura, Turk and Turan squabbling at the eastern borders and a now dormant Maryam and Lusitania to the north-west. His eyes lingered on the western tip of Lusitania roughly drawn at the top of the map, troubled by the story told by Etoile.

“To the first order of business then.” Arslan tapped on the _Darband_ at the northern edge. “I have received reports of earth tremors and crop failures in Hyrcania, correct Elam?”

“Yes.” The secretary stepped forward. “Farmers reported to the satrap that a rot had taken about sixty-percent of the wheat and barley crops. The cause is unknown. They haven’t seen symptoms like this before. They described a blackening of the husks, and a desiccation until they could be crumbled to ash in the hand.”

“That’s worrying. And the tremors?”

“Some moderate quakes during the night on two occasions. No severe damage was suffered, but one of the major roads has caved in to a fissure.”

“I see. The local _shahrdaran_ should be able to handle repairs on that. Meanwhile, we’ll request that the neighbouring province share some grain supplies to keep the people going through autumn.”

Rushan raised a hand. “Might I suggest Your Majesty, that we quarantine the Hyrcanian farmlands? If this is a new pestilence, allowing caravans out of the territory may carry the blight to new lands.”

Arslan gave a troubled sigh. “You may be right. We certainly must protect the rest of the country’s farmlands. Aid caravans must then be restricted to the cities, and then the populace will have to deal with the distribution among themselves. Whatever the farmers salvage must be sold within the province, and they may want to burn the afflicted fields.” Rushan nodded, hastily writing down his words.

“What else?” questioned Arslan.

Darayavahush stood. “There’s been sightings of a congregation of Lusitanians gathering near the border. At a glance, perhaps two thousand heads.”

“Don’t tell me those savages are planning another invasion?” Muttered Kartir.

“I highly doubt it.” Arslan cut in sharply, a low warning in the back of his throat. “I have been told that Lusitania is currently embroiled in a civil war. I think it very unlikely that any faction in Lusitania has the spare manpower or motivation to attempt any aggression. Besides, two thousand men hardly constitutes an army.” Darayavahush scoffed under his breath. “I will send someone to investigate discreetly.” Arslan asserted. “Spare me the brash assumptions until we actually have some idea of the situation.”

Darayavahush slammed a hand on the table. “If they are truly busy turning on each other, then we should take this chance to invade and annex the whole territory! Make it so they can never again threaten the Parsian people!”

Arslan’s expression turned cold. “You want another war, nought but three years after we just concluded one? What benefit would that bring, to waste so many lives and resources of a country still in the process of rebuilding?”

Darayavahush turned on a simpering tone. “Under Parsian rule, the Lusitania region would stabilise. We could teach them some civility and humility. They would know the peace and prosperity that reigns in our empire. During a civil war, the greatest casualties are collateral; the woman and children caught in the middle. Would you not agree? We’d be doing them a great charity taking them under our wing.”

Arslan ground his fingers into the table until they turned white. “Do you think _they_ would see it that way? I have witnessed first-hand Lusitanians choosing death over slavery. Death over defeat. Even greater casualties would arise from their resistance to us.”

Darayavahush stood up taller. “All the more reason to finally train them in rationality and reason. It looks to me that their fanaticism is destroying them from the inside. Lusitania should be liberated!”

 _“_ ** _This is not up for discussion! The last I checked, you are not my war advisor!_ ** ” Arslan’s voice rang through the chamber.

Darayavahush sunk back down into his seat along with the other silent advisors. “Merely a consideration, Your Majesty.” He muttered. It was an exceptionally rare occurrence for Arslan to raise his voice, and they all knew why Lusitania had suddenly become a sensitive subject.

Arslan closed his eyes, taking a moment to calm himself. “I will take your words under deliberation, but today has neither the time nor persons for such discussion.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Let us adjourn this meeting for now. This level of hierarchy wasn’t really necessary for such matters in the first place.”

Darayavahush and Kartir quickly picked up their papers and walked out without a word. Rushan remembered to bow before leaving, while Kishward came up to clap a hand on Arslan’s shoulder. “I understand your feelings Your Majesty, but these things take time to change. You must keep your composure ironclad, and then none will be able to undermine your word.” Arslan nodded and thanked him quietly.

Elam waited patiently by Arslan’s side as the advisors filed out, gathering up the reports. “You take too much responsibility upon your own shoulders, Your Majesty. If councillors such as Darayavahush are not to be trusted, why haven’t you replaced them?”

Arslan gave a wry smile. “It is not so simple Elam. If only it were. But Darayavahush comes from one of the most influential noble families, and Kartir leads our whole faith. Pillars of society cannot be so easily replaced. We have no choice but to compromise and work around our differing opinions. Such is the way of politics.” Elam grumbled under his breath about the inconvenience of it all. Arslan wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “And it is not as though I do not trust Darayavahush’s council. He has far more experience than me in the world of governance after all. I just want to be sure these matters are handled with care.”

Elam sighed skeptically and poked out Arslan’s benign smile. “Where are you off to now? Returning to Etoile? You left her quite abruptly.”

Arslan shook his head. “I have some things I need to do. Could you please send Aisha along to her if you see her though? I think they might get along, and she could use some assistance.”

“As you wish. Anything else?”

Arslan sheepishly scratched the back of his neck. “...Do you know where our forge is?”

_____________________

  
There was a loud rap at the door. Etoile sat up further in bed, wincing a little with the effort, and called out. “Who’s there?”

There was some shuffling, clinking, and an awkward cough. “It’s Arslan.” Etoile hastily threw a robe around her shoulders and called for him to enter, trying not to look as though she had just woken up, posing stiffly. The monarch bumped open the door with his hip, balancing a tray in one hand. “Good morning. I brought you some tea.”

Etoile flushed, scrunching her brows. “You don’t need to do such a thing…”

He smiled brightly back. “It’s nothing. I was coming to deliver something to you anyway.” Managing to set down the tea carefully on her bedside table, he sat down on the edge of the bed next to her, unwrapping the linen covering the pole carried in his other hand. An ebony hilt slowly unveiled itself, set at a gentle right-angle, laden with silver damascene. The tip of it seemed to be carved in the shape of a dog or wolf. Arslan quietly presented the cane to her, smiling encouragingly. “Sorry about the decoration, I know you are probably not one for needless embellishment, but my artisans can’t help themselves.”

Etoile’s fists gripped her blankets tightly, turning her head away. “I don’t need it.” she growled.

He sighed. “You’ll heal faster if you put less strain on your body.” Etoile stubbornly curled up in a ball. His patient gaze lingered on her softly, leaning in to murmur, “...Would it help if I put a sword inside of it?” Arslan suddenly looked down at the cane, eyes wide, struck by the realisation that this in fact, might indeed be a brilliant idea.

Etoile meanwhile ignored the offer, sniffling quietly into her knees. “...I don’t want the whole world to see how pathetic I’ve become…”

Arslan set the cane aside and leaned in to wrap his arms around her, briefly pressing his cheek to her hair. “Needing support doesn’t make you weak.” he whispered to her. “Think of this; if anyone dares mock you for it, just beat them over the head with it, they certainly won’t think you weak then.” Arslan suggested enthusiastically.

Etoile giggled softly. “You’re giving me permission to menace your staff?           

“Gently. To those who deserve it. Though you are quite welcome to bend my chief councillor over and smack him to oblivion.” He added with a grin.

Etoile playfully shoved him off her bed, watching him tumble down on to the rug. Arslan clutched at his chest dramatically, reaching for her, “Help, you’ve broken my ribs!”

Etoile threw a cushion down after him, smacking him in the face. “Since when did you become such a jester? It doesn’t suit a king.”

“But I’m your friend, not your king.” He mumbled through the pillow. Etoile paused, unsure of how to retort to that, long enough for the bedroom door to swing open once more. Farangis quietly walked in carrying a bowl, and stopped. An exasperated Etoile stared at her from the bed, with the king laying sprawled on the floor, pretending to be dead by ornamental cushion. Etoile crossed her arms, silently telling Farangis to remove his presence. Farangis hesitantly poked him with her foot. “Time to go dear, your lady needs to get dressed.” Etoile directed an embarrassed glare at the priestess’ choice of words.

Arslan rolled over with a sigh, reluctantly clambering to his feet, brushing himself off. “I will see you ladies at breakfast then.” He levelled Etoile with a meaningful stare, silently commanding _use your cane_ before bowing and exiting with a flourish. Etoile held her face in her hands while Farangis softly chuckled at their antics. The priestess placed the oil-filled bowl on her table, replacing Arslan sitting by her side.

She gave Etoile’s hair an affectionate stroke, smiling at her. “Let’s get you ready for the day. Alfreed wants to get you training it seems.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we finally reach the core concept of this fanfiction - the what-if-Etoile-suffered-the-same-injury-she-does-in-the-novel-but-survives-it-this-time AU  
> I’m gonna have fun exploring her personality deeper and the way she thinks and feels, especially when pushed to her limits. She’s my favourite character :)
> 
> [Aisha - Aisha is a canon character from the novels. She is a palace maid who eventually becomes Elam’s wife.]  
> [Darayavahush & Kartir - these two however are OCs]  
> [Eran - in case you were wondering, it is canon that Arslan appoints Kishward his Eran after becoming king, not Daryun]  
> _____________________________________________________  
> GLOSSARY
> 
> Dabir - scribe/secretary  
> Fesenjan - pomegranate chicken stew with rice  
> Aziz-am - roughly means ‘my dear’ but in Persian culture this can be used for friends as well  
> Eran - army commander-in-chief  
> Framadar - grand vizier, handles affairs of state  
> Darandarzbad - chief advisor to the king  
> Hirbad - chief of priests  
> Rahenma - It is not made clear in ArSen whether their native religion is mono or polytheistic. This time, I have decided to not go the way of historical accuracy, and made it a fantasy polytheistic faith. Rahenma means ‘guide’, which I will use to refer to the collective pantheon Mithra and Ashi etc belong to. It won’t be terribly important.  
> Darband & Hyrcania - the Caspian sea and the province bordering it  
> Shahrdaran - local lord/vassal king
> 
> Darayavahush - https://78.media.tumblr.com/6f06fbbac03a1c2263d4198c82a91256/tumblr_pbk5jgHovg1v68c4uo2_400.jpg  
> Kartir - https://78.media.tumblr.com/3c004dcc8dbc2f325c419150d9350fcb/tumblr_pbk5jgHovg1v68c4uo1_1280.jpg


	4. Natural Charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Etoile had long since come to terms with the fact that she loved Arslan.

_________________

**CHAPTER 4**

**Natural Charm**

_________________

  
  


Etoile had long since come to terms with the fact that she loved Arslan.

Lying in that darkness, cold and alone, she had cried for him. Longed for the comfort he brought, yearned for him to appear and hold her hand, to not let her slip away without ever seeing his face again. She’d wept and cursed and regretted all the things left unsaid, begged her god to not let her die alone without him by her side one last time.

The road to Ecbatana was long and solitary, and she’d had plenty of time to argue with herself, to berate and damn and pray for forgiveness, enough time to reflect and examine that feeling, and then bury it deep inside her under guilt and pride and resignation to reality.

That’s why it was such torture to be near him, she hated how much she enjoyed the touch of his hand on hers, hated the way her heart swelled no matter how many time she punched it down, hated the way he looked at her with compassion she didn’t deserve, she wanted to spit and hit and kick that gentle, dumb face because she was such a stupid, stupid, stupid girl.

She still thought he was awfully cute.

The past half-month had progressed slowly, trying her best to adjust to a new lifestyle, a new culture, with no familiar comforts of home to relieve her anxieties. She felt restless; a burning desire to sprint around the palace til her lungs burst, swing a sword til her arms dropped off with exhaustion, that she just simply couldn’t do anymore. Some days were a struggle to move at all, when her leg had decided she had pushed herself too much and just locked itself in place.   
Etoile dragged herself upright with her arms and glared down at her leg tangled in the sheets. She tried to swing her legs out of bed, but her right dragged behind, tingling with an unpleasant numbness. _Move._ She tried rubbing at her leg, coaxing some extra blood flow into it, but it still fought her efforts to flex it. _Move._ Etoile found herself punching at her knee until she could feel the stabs of pain shooting through her bones, tears of bitter frustration splashing on her thighs. “You’re my leg aren’t you? _Move_!”

A pair of hands appeared to stop her assault, squeezing her tightly. Farangis’ blurry face came into view, stroking her hair with a motherly touch. “It won’t get better if you abuse it.” she murmured to her. 

Etoile rubbed at her eyes, sniffling. As per Arslan’s request, she had opened up to her two female friends the night after she talked to him. She had been overwhelmed with their empathy, their promises of support as they hugged her tight, that the tears she thought had been milked dry spilled over once more as she wondered what she had ever done to deserve their love. It embarrassed her to be so out of control of her emotions as of late. She had done so well to keep it in during the journey here. Only once had she cried like that before, while she was laying in bed alone, feeling the life slowly drain from her body, unable to move or feel under the crushing weight of fever and loneliness, only weep quietly, yearning to see Arslan’s face again. Wanting to tell him all the things left unsaid, about how grateful she was to him, how much he meant to her, but now, on the other side, somehow alive, she found those words still stuck in her throat. She didn’t want him to know how she felt. She knew Arslan, of his bleeding heart, and she didn’t want to be loved out of sympathy or kindness. She didn’t deserve any of that. She didn’t want Arslan to accept her feelings.  And the only way was to make sure he never knew.

Farangis helped her pull her leg out of the blankets, settling it on her lap. She dipped her fingers into the warm oil in the bowl she had brought with her, scented with honey and wort, and gently started to massage her scarred knee. It had become their daily routine; Farangis would come each morning to treat her bad leg while Etoile drank the medicinal tea, she would help her dress and then they would depart to breakfast together.

“How are you settling in Etoile?”

Etoile sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s strange to live in a new culture. Everything is so different from home. I experienced a lot of it when I first came here, but it’s still unusual to wake up every day to an unfamiliar bedroom.”

Farangis gently dried off her leg with a cloth. “I see. So long as you’re not feeling sick, you’ll be fine.” The priestess took a length of leather and fixed it around her knee, binding the lacing firmly with a wince from Etoile. She hesitantly stood on the primitive brace, pulling her chemise off over her head while Farangis fetched her clothes from the dresser. She sighed as she looked down at her bare body. Her body had matured a little too quickly for her liking; her ability to masquerade as a male knight had been all but lost, and the attention she drew now was something she was extremely ill-equipped to handle. While getting Farangis’ and Alfreed’s help acquiring more clothes, she had to practically beg them for practical attire, their fashion tastes showed far more skin than she was used to sharing. They did however vow to spend a day dressing her up prettily, which she was deeply dreading. Luckily she had arrived in autumn, and the fading amiable weather prevented their immediate apparel onslaught.

“You’ve grown.” Farangis murmured, handing her a shirt. 

Etoile sighed. “It’s a pain.” She glanced down at her chest. “They’re a pain…” she grumbled, quickly tugging on the long-sleeved tunic. 

Farangis smiled sympathetically. “I’ll make a bandeau for you.”

Etoile carefully finished dressing, leaning on Farangis for support as she put on the wide Parsian pants and secured it with a sarong and sash. It had taken her awhile, but once she had gotten used to the loose style of Parsian clothing, she had to begrudgingly admit it was incredibly comfortable. As she was slipping her feet into a pair of boots, the door burst open and in stumbled a young woman. Dressed in the usual servant attire of white robes and veil, under which sat wavy, light brown hair, neatly braided behind the ears, and hazel eyes, the girl bowed profusely to the both of them.   
“I’m so sorry my lady, I should have been here sooner!”

Etoile waved her off assuringly. “Don’t concern yourself so much Aisha. I’m not a lady.”

Aisha huffed in protest. “You’re my appointed lady! So you’re a lady!”

Etoile groaned inwardly in embarrassment. She didn’t want to give anyone the false idea that she was some fancy noblewoman. She wasn’t a lady, she was a kn- well, she wasn’t a knight anymore either was she? 

Etoile hung her head, biting her lip while Aisha scurried about tidying her room. Farangis slid an arm around hers and they exited, walking down to the dining hall with Aisha in tow. The room was sparsely populated, the only other diners being Alfreed and Kishward, who gave her a respectful nod. They settled down on the cushions for some breakfast, fresh hot tea served into their cups, always the tea. Etoile pulled a bowl of fresh fruit towards her; ever since her injury, her appetite had been limited, without the stresses of daily rigorous work she had no lost energy to replace. The cuisine of Pars was decidedly more exotic than her homeland, and while she didn’t dislike the flavours, she preferred to play it safe with the foods most similar to what she knew. She mashed some raspberries and figs into a piece of flatbread and rolled it up, nibbling quietly while Farangis stirred some soup beside her, humming under her breath.

A hand came over Etoile’s shoulder to grab a pomegranate, a warm breath blowing into her ear. She shivered and shrieked in surprise, instinctively slapping behind her with a loud smack. Arslan slumped down into a seat beside her, sullenly rubbing his pink cheek. Etoile tried to calm her fluttering heart, smacking at Arslan a few more times for good measure.

“Don’t do that!” she choked.

Arslan chuckled behind his hand, hiding a bright grin. “I’m sorry, you didn’t notice me, so I couldn’t resist.” He settled down beside her, a servant quickly serving him his breakfast.

As she had always remembered him, Arslan still insisted on sitting among his vassals rather than at the head of the table as befitting his station. It surprised her, how much he had grown in the few short years since they parted. Some things never changed; he was still naive and kindhearted and guileless, but she had come to appreciate over time that perhaps they weren’t bad traits for a king after all. Physically though, he had matured much more, that even Etoile, who had never considered herself to be someone who paid attention to men beyond their occupations, might be cajoled into admitting that she found him, perhaps, a tad handsome. What was even more surprising was Arslan’s new playful attitude. He had always been an optimistic, good-natured sort, but now he had become almost childlike. She remembered the first attempt at a joke he’d made back outside her cell in St Emmanuel; his serious delivery catching her so off guard it successfully made her laugh, but it now seemed as though he took joy in joking with her whenever possible. And it maddened her really, because she couldn’t help but find it just a tad charming. It gave an impression of flirtatious charisma that embarrassed her to be on the receiving end of, but most infuriating of all, she knew damn well that he wasn’t doing it on purpose, so she couldn’t even hit him for it.

Arslan carved the pomegranate in his hand, carefully splitting open the husk and tapping out the red pearls into his porridge. Etoile crept a hand over and stole a seed. She had always been quite curious about the pretty fruit, popping it in her mouth to taste. It was slightly sour, as was so popular in Pars, but not unbearably so like their green plums. Arslan threw another at her playfully, that she caught and ate. She watched him sprinkle cinnamon, sugar and a nub of butter onto his beef  _ halim _ , stirring it to melt it all together, bright red jewels orbiting his spoon. Scooping up a spoonful, he blew on it softly and held it up to Etoile with a smile. “Have a taste.”

Etoile gave him a hesitant look, but he urged her on, so she cautiously ate the spoonful, chewing thoughtfully. It definitely had a meaty flavour, but it was tempered by the seasonings to give it a sweet zest. “Well...I guess it’s not too bad.”

Arslan beamed happily, starting to eat himself. Despite the luxurious array of cuisine available to royalty, Etoile had happily noticed that Arslan was not a fussy eater at all. Even while travelling in his camp where rations were simple, he ate everything voraciously, with the healthy big appetite of a man. They ate while chatting in the low, pleasant hum of morning conversation, sharing dreams and inquiring about the day ahead.

“So, what do you have planned for today?” Arslan asked Etoile.

Alfreed leaned over from across the table. “I’m gonna get Etoile training with the bow!” she announced enthusiastically, pumping her slightly bruised arm.

Arslan smiled along. “Sounds good.”

Etoile set down her empty plate. “Well, we mustn’t tarry then should we? Though I don’t expect we’ll discover any miraculous talent.”

 

As they left the dining hall, Etoile was met with Aisha standing patiently outside in waiting, clutching a cane to her chest, looking a little pink in the face. She looked at her quizzically, Aisha giving her a shy smile.

“His Majesty gave this to me before he entered, to give to you.” She handed over the fine cane, carved with some kind of dog bird. It was a little heavier than the first, a little more molded to the hand. This again? Etoile sighed. Aisha wiggled in delight. “You’re so lucky, to have the king looking out for you so much!”

Etoile blinked. “Ah, well, I suppose.”

“Shall we go on a walk to warm up for the day?” she suggested.

Etoile nodded in resignation, shifting the cane to her left hand.

Alfreed agreed adamantly. “That’s a good idea! You should work your leg before we get into training. I need some time to set things up anyway. I’ll meet you in the training grounds.” She waved as she sprinted off down the hallway, ever full of energy.

Etoile and Aisha made their way down to the gardens, taking in the warm morning sun as they walked and limped through the flowers. Aisha knelt to snip off a collection of blossoms to decorate the palace with, breathing in their scent in her arms.

“His Majesty is so talented, to create such beautiful things.” Aisha’s gaze was warm, a blush warming her cheeks. “I’m so envious that you get be close to him my lady.”

Etoile squirmed a little uncomfortably. “I don’t know that I would call us close...Arslan just likes to befriend everyone he meets, regardless of the situation.”

Aisha hid her face behind the roses a little nervously. “You’re...from Lusitania right?”

“Ah...yeah…” Etoile lowered her eyes, “Are you...afraid of me?”

Aisha stammered timidly, “No! My lady, you, perhaps a little more nervous maybe, because Lusitanians, disapprove of us right? They killed so many of us and, my lady does not harbour ill feelings for our victory?”

Etoile stopped, staring pensively at the ground, before lifting her eyes to Aisha. “I’m sorry. For what my people did.” She crossed her arms, “I do believe that there is salvation in our god but...no one deserved to die for it. Arslan is my friend, and I don’t want to hurt any of you…”

Aisha gave her a small, relieved smile, “How did you meet His Majesty?”

“Officially, at the siege of St Emmanuel fort but…” Etoile grinned to herself, “...technically, when I kidnapped him at age eleven and tossed him off the city walls.”

Aisha gaped in horror, “H-His Majesty?! How!”

Etoile jabbed a finger at her gleefully. Somehow, amid the silliness of the situation and her changing relationship with Arslan, the ridiculous affair had become a fond memory between the two of them. Despite the way it had infuriated and scared her at the time, seeing the way Arslan lit up with warm laughter whenever he recounted it let her appreciate the absurdity of it all. “I was taken prisoner! By Andragoras, the swine, I was going to be made into a slave! Arslan let me take him hostage so I could escape the city! I had no idea it was him.”

Aisha giggled softly, “Was he not regal? Not flanked by guards and servants?”

Etoile snorted. “Of course not. Is he now? He had  _ one _ guard, that I knocked the light out of in one hit. I just thought he was a pampered little rich nobleman’s boy. I just had to tuck him under my arm and run!” 

The air was filled with their quiet laughter as they came upon the training grounds. Alfreed waved them over excitedly, bow flailing in her hand. Aisha bowed and took her leave with her armful of flowers while Etoile joined the Zot woman in the grounds. A small target had been set up at the other end of the dirt courtyard, a flag fluttering in the breeze above it. Alfreed stood under the shade of a tree, loaded quivers in her arms. The older girl had changed slightly over the years, embracing a little more femininity, no doubt in an effort to appeal to Narsus. Her hair was slightly longer and unbound, falling to her shoulders and bouncing up in sharp curls. Two extra streaks had been added to her face paint, and today, the blue scarf sat tied around her neck. Her heart-shaped face however still gave her a youthful aura, and standing side-by-side, they could be mistaken for the same age.

Alfreed cheerfully bumped her hip against Etoile’s, handing her a small, curvaceous bow. “Here ya go. Ever used a bow before?”

Etoile hummed ambiguously. “I was officially trained with one, but I never used it. I preferred the sword. It...has a more heroic image.” She admitted bashfully.

Alfreed giggled. “Well, I’ll teach you from the ground up then. Parsian archery is probably different from yours anyway.”

Alfreed patiently guided her through the techniques taught to her in the Zot clan growing up, laughing at her grumpy frustration, til the sun blazed high overhead. Alfreed slumped against a tree, wiping the sweat from her brow. Etoile took a seat on a stone retainer, rolling her stiffening knee. She rubbed her sore hand, fingers tense from prolonged grip on the bowstring.

Alfreed laughed nervously, “You’re...getting better?” Etoile shot her a sour stare. “Look, well, I’ve seen worse. This kid Babak once managed to shoot himself in the arm. Plus, I’m the best markswoman in this country, you mustn’t compare yourself!”

“If I can’t at least learn archery to the same level as my swordsmanship, then there’s no point is there?” Etoile grumbled.

Alfreed clapped her on the back, “Don’t think so big! Just focus on little steps. I’m gonna go get us some water, don’t stress ok?” With renewed energy, she jumped up and skittered back into the palace in search of refreshment. Etoile sighed and took up her bow once more, returning to practice in the waning sun.

 

Focused so strongly on the rhythmic strum of arrows piercing air, Etoile jumped with fright as she felt a hand suddenly touched her waist. The bow twanged and her arrow went sailing off into the bushes somewhere. She tried to twist around with a snarl, but her back hit against Arslan’s chest, the king staring after the lost projectile with an amused expression.

“D-Don’t sneak up on me!” she hissed up at him, heart thumping for two different reasons.

Arslan smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to this time. I was just coming over to see how you were coming along.”

Etoile pouted. “Well sorry, but archery isn’t my strong point. Don’t expect any miracles.”

Arslan hummed. “It’s alright. It’s not mine either.” He gestured for her to nock. She huffed and drew the bow, only to have Arslan’s hands come around to gently claps hers. “Don’t draw until you’re ready to fire, you’ll just tire your arms.” He walked around her, plucking the arrow out and twisting it around the correct way. “Cock fletch out.” He murmured. He returned behind her, hands on her hips to slightly adjust her stance. His touch made her shiver with warmth, and Etoile could only do her best to ignore it. “Draw for me.” She drew, trembling. Arslan’s warm hands slowly drifted up her body, pushing her elbow down and back, straightening her spine. 

“Let your back muscles do most of the work.” His fingers needled into the spot between her shoulder blades, showing her where to tense. She squirmed under the ticklish sensation, grumbling. As Arslan reached out to adjust her grip on the bow, she snuck a glance at his face. His focused expression gave his profile a handsome, mature look Etoile hadn’t seen before, and she felt her chest tighten. Arslan returned his gaze to her, bemused to see her pointedly not looking at him, tilting his head to the side. “Let’s see you shoot.” She flexed her fingers, hooking the string on the ring on her thumb and pulled back. Her first shot thudded into the ground before the target, the next two into the outer rings, the last few a scattered mess of misses and hits. Etoile lowered the bow and gave Arslan a dry look. He gave a shrug and chuckled. “We’ll get you there.”

Etoile sighed and rolled her shoulders, walking over to sit on a bench. “I wonder about that.” She toyed with the reflex, twanging the tightly wound bowstring. “This is a strange bow. It’s so short and curved.”

Arslan sat down beside her. “It’s a bow designed for use on horseback. A long bow would be a hindrance. Alfreed understands well.”

She fixed him with an incredulous look. “I hope you don’t actually expect me to fire this thing on horseback.”

“A bad leg doesn’t mean you can’t be a knight anymore. On the back of a horse, it doesn’t matter if your legs work or not, right?” Arslan remarked cheerfully.

Etoile spluttered. “Well, I, I guess not?” She felt a little ashamed, and touched, that Arslan put so much thought into trying to restore her capabilities when she had given into despair so easily. “But I don’t think it’ll be so simple. As soon as I’m dismounted, I’m defenseless.”

Arslan pondered it for a moment, before clasping her shoulder with a smile. “In those times, I’ll be there to protect you.”

Etoile blushed and looked away. “That defeats the purpose then you idiot. Knights are supposed to protect kings-”

“And friends look out for friends.” Arslan affirmed. “If I insisted on such protocols, I would have corpses for friends. You needn’t persist on such formalities with me Etoile, I’m not your king. You have no obligation to protect or serve me.”

Etoile clenched her fists.  _ That’s not the point. What about my duty as a friend?  _ She wondered then, if she could really call herself Arslan’s friend. Even if he stated it as such, Arslan called everyone his friend without much effort. Friends didn’t use each other. It mustn't be so one-sided! If she were his friend, she’d be able to do something for him. Etoile stared at the ground, churning over her thoughts. Arslan suddenly snapped his fingers in realisation, drawing her attention. “Speaking of horses, there’s something I’d like to show you.”

 

They walked around to one of far sides of the palace complex. Arslan found himself instinctively walking on Etoile’s right, ready to offer support if needed. He took her to a large courtyard rimmed with trees and featuring a large fenced arena in the center. A few inquisitive heads poked out of the main building there, neighing at them.

“The royal stables?”

Arslan nodded with smile, leading her inside. A couple of stable-hands working there, raking out the straw, bolted upright at his entry, bowing fervently with their address.

Arslan waved them off, “Please, don’t mind me.”

A large white mare poked her head out her stall to nuzzle at Arslan’s hair, snorting it in all directions. The king turned to give the horse a big hug and a kiss, cooing at her.

“Is this your horse?” Etoile questioned, walking up to give it a pet.

Arslan nodded. “Yes. This is Dinah.” It was certainly an incredibly beautiful horse befitting a king. The glossy white mare sported a long, silvery mane, flanks flecked with dappled grey and darker points; grey legs, ears and nose, with deep black eyes. Arslan’s natural animal allure applied here too it seemed, Dinah enjoying the affection doled on her by her master, rubbing against him hard enough to push him over.

“Well, did you bring me here for anything besides showing off the royal horses?”

Arslan beamed. “Of course! Let’s see…” he thought for a moment, “Ardia, could you bring Zahra to the yard?” The young stable boy looked flustered to be addressed by name, scampering to find the correct horse. Arslan took Etoile back outside to the arena, leaning against the railing to wait. Soon, the boy lead out a large mare, handing the rope to Arslan. Compared to the elegance of Dinah, this horse was strong and muscular, with a beautiful creamy-gold coat. It’s sturdy legs were black feathered by zebra stripes, along with a black mane and tail. A dorsal stripe travelled up its spine to a broad, black-pointed head with dark eyes. Arslan gave her a stroke, Zahra’s ears flicking around curiously. Etoile gave him a questioning look from the other side of the war horse.

“This is Zahra, one of the many horses belonging to the royal family, bred from our personal Nisean bloodline.” Arslan sighed, cuddling the side of the mare. “Royals are always expected to ride white horses into battle and on formal occasions, so wonderful girls like this go to waste. I want you to have her instead.”

Etoile froze. “This again Arslan? You need to stop giving away such valuable things like this to me! Besides, I have a horse!” she protested.

Arslan stared at her skeptically. “That’s just a normal workhorse though isn’t it? We’re trying to teach you mounted combat, you’re going to need a suitable horse for that.”

Etoile scowled and looked away, “Well, yes, but, it’s good enough for me. I really don’t deserve any of this Arslan.” She turned around and tried to walk away. 

Arslan quickly reached out and clasped her hand, pulling her back. “Talk to me Etoile. Tell me why it’s so wrong for me to give you things” he implored. Zahra, lose from his grasp, wandered off to raid the hay stacked outside the sheds.

Etoile stared at the ground, biting her lip. “It’s just...I grew up working so hard for every single thing; anything I got, I got because I worked for it. And now, I’m being given all these precious things for free and I don’t deserve it. It...it makes me feel even worse, because I still haven’t done anything for you.” Etoile shut her eyes. The guilt of her worthless state gnawed away at her heart. No matter what Arslan said, it still felt as though she was leeching off his goodwill. Her debts were piling higher and higher, and she had nothing to offer to anyone in repayment, not without destroying the last remnants of her dignity. 

“If I expected payment for everything, would it really be an act of friendship anymore?” Arslan protested.

Etoile grabbed him by the collar, pulling him down. “And if you never receive anything in return, aren’t you being taken advantage of?!” she snapped.

Arslan placed a hand over hers. “I don’t mind being taken advantage of then. I’m not losing anything, and it’s not hurting anyone.”

Etoile pulled her hand back and slammed her fist into his chest. “It’s hurting  _ me _ !” she yelled.

Arslan was silent for a few moments, slowly coming up to gently hold her quivering hand, giving it a squeeze. “Alright…” he sighed, “I’ll make you work for it then.” Etoile blinked. He smiled reassuringly. “I’ve been meaning to tell you. It’s why I’m giving you this horse right now. I have a job for you. Something that only you can do.”

Etoile gave a shuddering exhale, looking down in embarrassment. “Say so earlier then…” She crossed her arms and leaned against the fence. Her heart was pounding, and she could feel the heat in her face. “What is it?”

Arslan reclined next to her. “I need you to talk to some refugees.”

“Refugees?”

He nodded. “A few weeks ago, we received sightings of a congregation of Lusitanians near the border, moving through Maryam. People were worried it was a surviving sect of the Templars, or remnants of Guiscard’s army planning an attack, but they’ve reached out to the border cities. They’re a group of refugees fleeing the civil war in Lusitania.”

“Why would they come here? To the land of the evil heathens that defeated them…” Etoile’s mind was already churning, trying to picture the mental reasoning of these people.

“I’m not sure. Perhaps they are truly that desperate. I heard one of the knights among them giving them protection is Parahuda though, so perhaps he had a hand in convincing them.”

Parahuda...the last she had seen him, he was in the company of her friend Parizad. She hoped they were both doing well. Certainly, someone who had come into contact with the new king of Pars could have enough leverage to convince others that he was not deceitful. “...So, what do you need of me?”

Arslan smiled. “I do not think Lusitanians will so quickly trust the word of a heathen king, if I could speak to them at all. You are probably the only person in Ecbatana fluent in Lusitani. I’d like you to act as my translator and ambassador. It would calm their nerves to see a fellow Lusitanian advocating their cause to the king.”

Etoile shuffled uncomfortably. Sure she had demanded to work for her keep, but to be immediately put into a position of influence for Parsian politics was a little too much, and frankly irresponsible. “This is a lot of responsibility...it’s not like I have any skills in negotiating.”

“You’ll mostly be translating,” Arslan reassured, “Don’t worry, I’ll be there too.”

Etoile frowned.“You’re coming too?”

“Of course! I want to speak to them personally. This could be a valuable opportunity to improve relations between our countries!” Arslan’s eyes sparkled with optimism like only his could, a spring of eternal hope.

She sighed. “You never give up do you?” Only Arslan could possibly believe in establishing a peaceful relationship between two countries with such a volatile recent history. They were just too different; two opposing cultures and religions both fighting to expand their influence. She did have to guiltily concede to herself that a lot of the blame lay on Lusitania for its complete and utter intolerance of those outside of the faith, but they were merely following the teachings of their ancestors, born into a world where they knew nothing else and knew no better. Occasionally she did find herself repulsed by the customs of the Parsian people, an instinctual rejection of that which offended her beliefs, and she had to hold herself back from vocally objecting in anger. Always reminding herself that Parsians were not sinful, just different. She wanted to become better. 

“If I ever gave up, there’d be no progress. No one else will do it right?” Arslan remarked.

Etoile crossed her arms, ”Well, I suppose.” Zahra wandered back over to them, trailing her tether along the ground, Arslan quickly scooping it off the ground. The mare nuzzled against Etoile, the girl rubbing behind her ears. Arslan smiled, glad to see the horse welcoming her new master.

“Also, I have another favour to ask.” said Arslan. Etoile looked to him curiously. “I’d like you to teach me Lusitani.”

Her jaw dropped. “W-What?! Why? Besides, I have no idea how to teach!”

Arslan pouted. “But I want to learn. We have a hundred and twenty farsangs to travel, why not use it to learn something new?”

“But why Lusitani? Wouldn’t you rather know something more useful?”

Arslan smiled, gazing at Etoile warmly. “I want to be able to speak to your people in my own words. I want to be able to understand them. And...I want to know you.” He murmured softly.

Blood crept up into Etoile’s cheeks and she turned away, feeling the frustration bubbling up in her chest. Why was he always like this? Why was he always so...loving. To her, and everyone else. She clutched at her tunic, feeling her knee starting to throb from standing too long.

“I...you won’t learn very much from me…”

“That’s fine.” He stepped closer, noticing her trembling posture, and silently tucked an arm around hers in support. 

She shyly held on, watching Zahra sniff around Arslan’s clothes for treats. “By the way...why is my horse called Princess?”

Arslan choked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Persian, “Zahra” means bright and beautiful. In Hebrew/French, “Zara” means Princess.
> 
> I’m so sorry for the delay in updating, I got stuck on one conversation, and also became busy in real life and other fandoms. I don’t know how long the next chapter will take to drop, from here on the story is largely unplanned.


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